Burning Water
by Anotherjaneway
Summary: The lives of the gang are shaken up when Captain Stanley moves on and Craig Brice assumes captaincy of Station 51. Karen Overstreet is precepted by Dr. Morton as a resident intern at Rampart. James Rockford is asked to find out the whereabouts of a victim Roy and Johnny treats and learns all is not just a natural normal everyday occurrence.


This is a text version of the original still airing imaged, music soundtracked story.

Season Ten, "Movie Five", Episode Fifty Eight 58. Burning Water. Season Ten - Episode 58. Short summary-

The lives of the gang are shaken up when Captain Stanley moves on and Craig Brice assumes captaincy of Station 51. Karen Overstreet is precepted by Dr. Morton as a resident intern at Rampart. James Rockford is asked to find out the whereabouts of a victim Roy and Johnny treats and learns all is not just a natural normal everyday occurrence.

****WARNING**** The long summary to come is very story spoiling and will take away plot surprises if you read it now before reading the longer story below it.

Decide now if you want to read this episode's detailed summary before doing so.

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Long Summary-

Movie Five, Burning Water.. (Episode 58)

Johnny Gage is totally surprised when Craig Brice shows up in the middle of the day as acting captain when Hank Stanley disappears midshift to take a Battalion Chief's exam. Dr. Morton teams up with Karen Overstreet, Brice's current girlfriend, as a fellow resident intern at Rampart Hospital. An oil tanker fire on top of a viaduct is a challenge for acting captain Brice and Station 51. An old man rescued from the truck makes Mike Stoker promise to care for a team of fire horses for him. Overstreet over-reacts to Dr. Brackett's satisfaction of her job performance as an intern. Morton offers advice. Gage sets into motion finding the truck driver's father about his transport to Rampart.  
Station 51 clears the tanker fire scene. Sharon Walters and Karen Overstreet talk doctors. Brice rubs Marco and Roy the wrong way following an oil fire.  
A waitress contacts P.I. Jim Rockford about his father's accident. Squad 51 responds to a heart attack call at a beach restaurant in Malibu. A waitress and Vince Howard, aid Roy and Johnny during a resuscitation call. Johnny vows to track down the waitress and get her name in order to thank her for helping them. Jim Rockford arrives at Rampart and tracks down his father, Rocky. Gage hires the P.I. to give him the name of the waitress who helped them both with their sick and injured. Hank Stanley is promoted to battalion chief just as a brush fire escalates. Johnny loses a date to the private detective. Stoker and Gage drive to a horse barn and get surprised by the horses their previous patient took care of. While driving a horse driven antique steam powered fire engine, a looter shoots at Roy and Johnny, causing a crash.  
The detective and waitress find themselves trapped by a canyon fire and come up with a plan to save themselves. Karen Overstreet reacts badly to losing a patient and Morton starts the ball rolling to summon aid for her using Brice. Rampart gears up into brush fire mode. The waitress and the detective discover a man lying on a farm road during their escape from the arsonist sniper and investigate. Battalion Hank Stanley orders Brice to assign Roy and Captain Stone to respond to Karen Overstreet's house in a still alarm. The detective and the waitress scoop up Johnny Gage from the road and start heading for help. Firefighters working to save a town from the brush fire spot the wounded fire horse team. The detective meets up with Brice, Chet and Kelly to treat Gage in triage. Vince Howard and a police lieutenant begin to track down. An informant of the P.I. shows up at the brush fire. Johnny is taken to Rampart. Sara learns more about the P.I. from his informant friend. A new search begins for the missing Mike Stoker. The engineer awakens and finds himself playing cat and mouse with the shooter. The arsonist finds Mike Stoker just as a burning tree in the wildfire falls on top of them both on a lakeshore. Roy and Ben locate Karen Overstreet and are shocked at encountering a nervous breakdown. A S.W.A.T.  
team attempts to locate Mike Stoker with a bloodhound. The P.I.  
and waitress chafe at being in Triage with Roy, Vince Howard and a police lieutenant. Roy confronts Brice about Johnny's rescue news.  
Gage awakens under Morton's care and sends the P.I.'s dad to go monitor a fire scanner for signs of Mike Stoker's rescue.  
Stanley is relieved of incident command duty. As a captain,  
he seeks out Brice and relieves him to go see Karen Overstreet.  
Stoker awakens as a hostage and gets stabbed twice by the sniper/arsonist. Brice proposes to Karen for marriage at Rampart. They fall asleep, content, after facing memories of their miscarried baby together. Dr. Brackett arrives at the fire's triage station with Dixie. They relieve Roy to assist his station in finding Mike Stoker. The 51 gang unites with the P.I., the waitress, a street informer, a police lieutenant and Vince to lauch one more search for Stoker along a river before a firestorm catches up and shuts down rescue operations. Mike Stoker manages to trick his kidnapper into giving him his HT. L.A. dispatch intercepts a transmission and soon Station 51, the P.I, and police are all headed to a church in the town being threatened by the fire.  
Stoker and the sniper both, begin to feel the effects of their injuries.  
The P.I., Station 51's gang, and police, zero in on a church when Stoker successfully transmits a live mic feed from his H.T. to L.A. The arsonist/sniper is tackled to the ground by the P.I. and a struggle for his gun ensues. Vince kills the arsonist.  
Engine 51 rescues Mike Stoker and the private investigator from the fire zone. Dr. Brackett arrives by helicopter and treats Stoker and the P.I., saving their lives. The P.I. proposes to the waitress and she accepts.

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The Story Unfolds...

Season Ten, Episode Fifty Eight..  
Burning Water Debut Launch: September 7th, 2015.

**************************************************************  
From: patti keiper pattik1 Sent:Sat 9/19/15 8:51 PM Subject: Shake Up.

Roy Desoto and Johnny Gage burst into the kitchen at Station 51 from the locker room full of nervous energy.

"Are we late for roll call?" Gage asked his partner, who was walking just as quickly through the doorway to make it to the stove. "I heard there was an inspection to be run at noon today."

"I don't think we are, Chet's still cooking." Roy replied, snatching up a plate from a cabinet. He hurried over to the pot and held it out. "What have we got for us today, Chet? We're half dead and starving."

Kelly recited proudly, stirring up his creation's rich aroma for his two coworkers with his spoon. "Huh? Oh.. A little something for everybody. Chet's everything curry. It's got chicken for Stoker, potatoes for me, it's spicy hot for Marco, it's got beef in it for you, milk for Gage ... and clams for..." he broke off suddenly in horror when he saw who was walking into the kitchen from the side door wearing a white captain's dress hat. It was Craig Brice.  
"...Cap?"

Marco Lopez looked up from his newspaper where he was patiently waiting for his portion of lunch to be dished out. "Oh, Hi, Craig. Heard you were coming. Good to see you again."  
he said, not moving his feet off the table top as he turned a page.

Craig Brice angled the black rim of his white captain's cap in a greeting as he plucked it off to toss onto the couch across the room with great accuracy. Henry watched it sail neatly onto the cushion next to him. "Likewise, Mr. Lopez. I hope I can cut down on most of the usual paperwork you regular firefighters always get stuck with, while I'm here." Craig said, digging into the sink for a clean coffee mug. He immediately began buffing the one he picked out carefully from the drying rack with a towel. His tone had been warm and cordial, but Gage heard it all colored as one hundred percent condescension in his head.

Mike Stoker offered up a quiet friendly wave and a pour of java into Brice's borrowed mug.

Johnny didn't move from his frozen in shock pose, a hand half in and out of the plate cabinet.  
"Roy.." he mumbed under his breath, "What's he doing here... like...like...like that?" he sputtered.

Chet smiled. "Looks like he's in charge."

"But why?" Johnny gaped. "Where's Cap? He was here this morning."

DeSoto shrugged absently. "Don't know. Don't care. All I care about is getting some food into my stomach before we get our next-"

**EEEohhhhooOOOOooooo** ##Station 51. Squad 51. Respond with Engine 9, Foam 127.  
Tanker crash. On the PCF highway exit west of Ojai Community College off Baines. PCF exit west off Baines. Fire is evident. Time out : 11:55.##

Roy ended up having to pull the lunch plate out of Gage's hand and giving him a little push back towards the squad as he headed out. "Me and my big mouth."

"Nobody's is bigger than mine." said Chet, actively competing with Roy in a fight to be first out to the apparatus bay.

"Orderly single file dash. That's the most efficient way out, gentlemen.." Brice said, following them in a jog.

Gage's body snapped out of his fugue but not his face, which was still frowning.  
"I wonder what the hell happened at Headquarters this morning at the monthly captain's meeting?" he asked himself, half out loud for Roy and the others to hear.

But everybody else was in turnout jacket dressing and belting up mode for the trip out Code 3 with full reds.

::I wonder what the hell I was thinking last night to believe I was ready for this.:: thought Hank Stanley to himself as he bent dutifully over the Battalion's test answer sheet laid out on the desk in front of him. He could almost feel the eyes of his adjudicators watching him diligently work with his pencil on the first of the five hundred problems he knew would follow in the days ahead. ::Sure McConnikee's dead and buried of that stroke he suffered Thursday, but that doesn't mean a hill of beans for my level of confidence this afternoon. Holy Hanna!::

Cap stopped bouncing his left knee up and down when he heard one of his preceptors,  
Battalion Nine, clear his throat meaningfully. "Uh... yes sir?" he asked the chief.

"We're working on the dynamics of scenario number six, is that correct Mr. Stanley?  
We don't have all day. The training tower awaits your expertise.." said the taciturn fireman officer.

Hank's eyes opened in stunned correction when he realized that he had written in the last four minutes of hose pressure and chemical mix formula equations under Number Five's narrative space. He quickly began applying his worn down eraser once again. "Sorry. I'll... just redo these. It'll only take a minute."

"You have three." said another chief, yawning as he looked at his watch.

Cap tried not to look at the fingers twitching on the third examiner as they fiddled around with the timer buzzer's button on the front table.

Resident Intern Karen Overstreet looked up from her place in Rampart's doctor's coffee lounge at the scanner Dr. Morton always left on, on top of their refrigerator. She had heard the call out for Station 51. "Well, that was quick. I hope you're can be a faster than normal thinker, Craig Brice,  
in your new role as an acting fire captain." She studied her watch. "You just barely walked into their door." she grinned.

"You said something, Karen?" asked Morton as he sucked on a cigarette over against the wall so he wouldn't bother any other non-smokers in the room.

"Oh, nothing much, Dr. Morton. Just the usual girlfriend musing about a current beau."

"You and Craig Brice are dating each other?" her darker skinned counterpart asked in surprise.

"For five months. Where have you been, Mike?"

"With my nose buried face deep in your patient charts where it belongs, Karen.  
Congratulations. I think."

"What do you mean you think?" she said dangerously soft.

Next to Dr. Morton, a very silent Joe Early suddenly got up, abandoning his own coffee cup, and left the room. "I'll...be in Treatment Two. I think I left my tongue depressor unattended."

The two interns didn't even notice his departure from behind their equally piled high stacks of medical and trauma cases. Overstreet and Morton were still locked eye to eye.

The puffy haired spectacled physician was unmoved by her challenge.  
"I don't know if you're living together or just casually seeing each other as romantic dates with overnights. Not going to pry." Morton huffed with a grin.

Karen blinked, slowly, and backed down with genuine apology. "Oh. Since you put it that way. Okay. We're very definitely lovers, Dr. Morton. Feel free to gossip."

"I don't gossip." he frowned. "If anything, I quell the behavior whenever I see it in my staffers. Immediately. There's a time and a place for catching up on the rumor mill and I'm afraid that's not going to be at work."

"But we're socializing." Karen pointed out.

"We're clarifying. Big difference." Morton snorted.

Karen smiled hugely at her preceptor and fellow resident doctor. "Thanks, Mike.  
Your concern about the status of my heart strings makes you suddenly, a very good friend."

"HHmmm." Morton grunted, not looking up from double checking his notes.

The two of them amicably traded case file piles to mutually proof read each other's notes. "So..." she said. "How did I do on the Anders case?"

"Adequate. There's only so much you can do with a Stokes/Adams attack. What's best for him in the long run, we won't know until he's got an entire half year's worth of lab results and blood pressure readings under his belt." Mike told her.

Karen sighed. "D*mn it! And I worked so hard on him. I want to be good. Like Craig does as a paramedic. But I don't feel confident yet. Not at all."

"Spoken like a true resident intern. Welcome to the club." Morton said, reaching out and offering his hand for a shake. "Remember Karen, we have to learn and implement about five hundred times the amount of knowledge your average street paramedic has to cover. If you feel outclassed, that's normal. I'm sure Dr. Brackett will grind you down even further into the dirt like he does every resident before too long. That means you're on the right track for the most part."

"Yey, team." Dr. Overstreet said, slurping down her cold coffee without enthusiasm.

Craig Brice had Mike Stoker stop the engine about five hundred feet upwind of the incident scene. A huge oil tanker was on its side on top of the viaduct, burning ferociously in lurid red flames with very heavy pitch black smoke showing. There were no bystanders to speak to, everybody had sense enough to flee the intense heat of the accident.

"What caused him to tip?" Brice asked his engineer.

Stoker eyed up what they were looking at as he watched the others begin to haul off hose packs to connect up to fire hydrants and Foam 127's already laid out foam machine.  
"Tire issue. See those shreds on the ground? This was a single truck accident."

Brice turned to Roy and Johnny. "Gage, DeSoto. Get onto Ladder 9's bucket. Use full protection gear. See if you can spot the driver whereever he is. We'll plan our attack once we know his exact location."

"Right, Captain." Johnny said efficiently. It sounded funny in his ears.

Chet eyed up Marco. "Why is it always on a bridge? Can't the truck driver go a little further?" he complained, quickly setting up hose clamps to their belayed hoselines.  
Lopez scoffed at him. "When it happens UNder a bridge it's not much better." he said honestly, helping Mike Stoker man and prime Engine 51's pump.

Roy and Johnny hurried into their scba and got onto the bucket awaiting a paramedic team. The ladder crew quickly lifted them into the air as Roy and Johnny fully tested the open channel strength of their handy talkies. "HTs 51 to Engine 51." DeSoto toggled.

##Go head, HT 51.## said Brice.

"We're already seeing signs of pavement failure and sagging beneath the main tank. Looks like crude oil. One hundred percent."

##Copy that. Tie off from the bucket in case the road collapses if you decide to go in on a victim retrieval. ## Craig radioed to them.

"That's what we'll be doing." Roy shared. "The driver's moving and unburned."

Closer and closer, they jerked in slow feet. On their guard, gripping the hand rail of the basket,  
they felt themselves being pushed in and over the burning truck by the Addison operator.

Roy put a megaphone that had been in a crate at his feet to his mouth.  
"This is the L.A. County Fire Department to the man in the truck. We're coming to get you. Do not leave the cab." he added, as he saw more liquid oil, not yet on fire, begin to trickle and spread across the bridge's asphalt surface. "We're going to lay down some fire retardant foam first. Stay where you are."

Johnny thought he saw a feeble reaction through the top side facing passenger door window beneath them. Two feet were being moved restlessly. "He's still got good air down there, Roy."

"We've got six minutes on ours. Mark." DeSoto said out loud. "Man,  
I hate basket snatches. Too much can go wrong."

"Quiet, pally. My ears don't need to hear that. They're burning enough already."  
Johnny shouted over the roar of the flames. He lifted his HT. "HT51 to Ladder 9, seven feet south! We're under some heat!"

##Tracking a new directional, HT 51.## came back their tillerman. With a groan,  
the bright white lattice of metal jerked and began to retreat back the way it had come.

Roy and Johnny disappeared into a sudden inky cloud of dark smoke when the wind shifted instantly in a random breeze.

Craig Brice shouted to them over the frequency. "Engine 51 to HTs 51. Your status?"

There was no reply.

Photo: Brice in a kitchen.

Photo: Gage and Chet forlorn over a cooking pot.

Photo: Karen Overstreet, smiling, outside.

Photo: Dr. Morton, in resident garb, by a records cabinet.

Photo: A hillside set aflame with spilled oil beside a freeway.

Photo: An oil tanker on top of a bridge, burning.

Photo: Roy and Johnny moving foward of a ladder truck in an aerial bucket.

**************************************************  
From: patti keiper (pattik1 )  
Sent:Mon 11/16/15 10:38 PM Subject: High Expectations..

Brice ran to the back of the engine to get a closer view of the tanker and the aerial ladder's current position. He waved to the control man on 9's to spot up eyes to begin a water curtain from the hose nozzle attached to the deck rail of the ladder bucket to protect Roy and Johnny. "Wide fan! Heavy dispersal. We need to see what's going on!"

"Yes, sir!" the fireman hollered back.

Truck 127's Captain rushed up to Craig with news. "We're charged. Laying a foam blanket from the east and working in to the tanker and your men.  
Any word from them?"

Brice spared the man a glance. "Not yet. But 9's ladder op doesn't look worried in the slightest. It's probably because Gage and Desoto are caught in mid air, rappelling down to the cab. Need both hands doing that."

"Sit and wait? I always hate that on a scene." 127's Captain grinned. "You'll grow a thin skin about it, too, soon enough, captain."

"One fire at a time." Brice nodded ruefully, casting his eyes back to the smoke column blocking his view. Then the wind shifted and Craig saw that everything about their rescue remained on track. Roy and Johnny were in still motion, on ropes. That meant they felt that they were not in immediate danger continuing their attempt. "Ah.. that's better." Craig said, putting his hands on his hips as he watched the sky where they were above the fire.

The captain of 127's foam crew sighed in relief. "Much." Then he held out a glove to Craig in an offered handshake. "Congrats on your new command post, Brice. You're a credit to this department. I've been watching you move up the ranks."

Brice nodded and accepted the grip, after shifting his HT radio to his other hand.  
"Thank you, captain. Means a lot. It wasn't easy leaving the paramedic program.  
But I have been feeling like I needed to stretch a few career boundaries the last year or so."

"Maybe you don't have to give up those squad duties forever. You're a captain now. Lobby for a change in promotion policies. I can't think of a better man for that angle knowing your track record. I know Captain Stone would jump aboard that kind of camp at the drop of a hat. He'd be a staunch ally. He really misses manning those defibrillator calls."

"I'll give it some thought." Craig smiled.

"I'd better get over there and oversee our application. Keep in touch, Brice."

Craig waved a hand as 127 returned to his crew's position. "I will, Stevenson. Thanks for the tip. I will take full advantage of it."

Johnny Gage's shoes thunked loudly on the wet metal of the tanker cab as he and Roy DeSoto reached their target.

Roy got on the radio. "That's enough slack. Hold position!" he hollered once he saw enough rope was played out to allow them entry inside the truck as far as the driver.

##Copy, 51.## replied the bucket crew lieutenant who was invisible above them in the smoke.

Johnny was already in full contact mode. "Hey, can you hear me in there? Are you hurt?!" he shouted loud enough through his air mask to be heard over the sound of the protective hose water curtain raining down on top of them.

The driver was dressed in overalls over a red long sleeved shirt. He was a sixties something, and a little rotund. He stirred and opened his eyes in a mild panic. "Am I going to burn? This window's hot!"

"No. We're taking care of that. Are you bleeding anywhere?" Roy added.

The dizzy trucker driver's head wove in uncertainty and shock. "Uhh..  
my hands are sticky, and I'm smelling iron. Probably so. I can't see anything enough to tell. There's soot in my eyes."

"Okay, cover up with something! We're going to break this glass to get in by you!" Gage told him. "What's your name?"

"R-Rocky.."

"Do you have any pain?" Roy said pulling out a jacket halligan to use to shatter the passenger's window over which they stood.

Rocky didn't answer from under the tarp he had weakly pulled over his head and shoulders.

Gage shook his head. "He can't hear us like that, Roy. There's too much noise going on."

DeSoto gave a warning. "Breaking in!"

Gage covered his neck area with crossed forearms as the glass flew apart with Roy's hammer strikes. Soon the way was open.

Inside the cab, Rocky started coughing immediately as smoke from the oil tank fire began to fill the truck cab.

DeSoto was the first one in. He knelt down by his patient but left the tarp covering him in place for the moment. He shouted into his radio. "Okay. Lower the spare air bottle for our victim. We're in!"

##Copy, 51.##

Gage stayed above and guided the third rope tethered to the scba that the bucket team was sending down until it reached the bottom. Then he leaped in after it.

Together, he and Roy tossed away the tarp Rocky had used and got air flow running through the new mask. They strapped it to Rocky's face. The fresh air seemed to revive the older man and he groaned in a slight recovery.

Gage ran his gloves over Rocky's body, looking at them after every few inches of searching or so for blood traces. Finally,.. "The blood's coming from his head, Roy."

"I got it." DeSoto replied, placing a rag he had found over the spot and applying pressure.

"I'll check his neck and back." Gage said after washing the blood off his gloves in the water pouring in from the broken window above them. He returned to his assessment. "Rocky! Where else are you hurting? Here?" he asked,  
gripping around the back of his head and sliding his hands down his spine.

"No." the driver gasped, clinging to the mask feeding him breathing room.  
"Just my... my head."

"We won't need a backboard." Gage decided.

"Let's get him out now. This head wound can wait." Roy agreed, turning so Johnny could remove the extra life belt they had brought that was attached to his own.

Johnny got it free and worked again over Rocky. "I'm going to put this life belt around your waist. If I hit a sore spot, give a holler."

Rocky's eyes closed behind his air bottle mask.

"Rocky?" Gage said, grabbing the man's face with both hands, peering at his bloody face.

"He's going out." DeSoto said. "Still breathing okay though." he reported, feeling the driver's ribcage with his free glove.

Johnny pulled out his HT from his pocket. "Engine 51. We've got a sixties male.  
Head injury with foreign body eye involvement. Semi conscious. No burns. No fractures.  
Ready to extricate in one."

##10-4, Gage.## came Brice's reply. ##Ambulance crew has a cot waiting with O2 standing by. The fire's been contained in your immediate vicinity. You've got time.##

The heavy rain of hose water suddenly lightened to a strong mist around them as coverage was moved to a different involved area on the oil tanker at last.

Roy and Johnny both stood up and looked out the hole in the cab they had made.

"Not enough room for a tandem belay. He's going to have to go up alone." DeSoto said.

"I'm fine with that." Gage said, double checking the rope he had looped onto Rocky's life belt hook.

A minute later, Rocky's limp upper body was guided out of the truck by Gage maneuvering him by his legs and feet up to the bucket crew. Gage had strapped the bottle to Rocky's back so his clean air ventilation could continue uninterrupted.

##51, moving off with your victim. Return trip for both of you in two.## promised the bucket man.

##Understood!## DeSoto replied over radio. Then he gave Johnny a leg up so he could climb out of the truck. Gage returned the favor and offered a hand down to haul Roy up. Soon they were crouched down on top of the cab to keep away from the intense heat billowing from the rear of the tanker and the hot, foam covered oil on the ground. They kept themselves wet with mist while they waited for their own rescue trip off the truck.

Mike Stoker and Chet Kelly were there to take care of Rocky after he reached the ground. They took temporary charge of the next steps of aggressive treatment.

Craig Brice had taken matters into his own hands enough to set the resuscitator to passive mode and to get out all of the gear boxes from the squad. He could tell at a glance that Rocky was stable, if a little groggy, so he knew his immediate help wasn't needed. He returned to his place next to Ladder 9 to watch his paramedics get pulled out.

Mike Stoker got on Rocky's head immediately after the two of them got him centered him onto his side on Mayfair's cot on top of a shock sheet. Together, he and Chet peeled off Rocky's air bottle and harness and switched out his air mask for an E and J's on demand oxygen supply. Stoker kept a close thumb on the trigger to offer a mechanical boost if Rocky needed help breathing.

Kelly noted the mass of bloody rag sticking to Rocky's hair. He took over applying pressure to the wound.

On the bridge, on the truck, Johnny ansed as he watched them work over their patient far below. "His name's Rocky." he reported over the channel.

Stoker waved a confirm at Gage. A few seconds later, the engineer smiled when Rocky finally opened dirt filled eyes.

"Ahh.." Rocky grimaced. "My eyes!" he fidgetted, whipping his head away from Mike's hands and the oxygen mask.

"We'll wash them out. Keep this over your nose and mouth. It'll help." Mike told him.

Shaking, the older man obeyed as the ambulance attendants raised the head of his cot up to ease his breathing and help control the bleeding. "My son is going to kill me. I'm not...*gasp*... going to be there to take care of them." Rocky coughed.

"Take care of who?" Mike asked, leaning in as he counted a carotid pulse on Rocky closely.

"Neb and Sally. They're... they're horses I'm in charge of. They pull a 1912 pumper."  
he grinned fondly, half out. "Here." said the driver, passing over a soggy business card he pulled from a shirt pocket.

"A horse drawn fire engine?" Mike asked in surprise after he saw the card's logo illustration. There was a business address on it.

"Yeah... this summer's been fun. They've both been my pride and joy. Had to help Mac with them while he had his surger-" his voice trailed off into a gurgle and he grew still.

"Rocky? Hey!" Mike prompted. "I know you're tired. Take a deep breath for me." He shot a light puff of oxygen into the driver's lungs with the trigger valve. "Like this. A few minutes more doing it, and we'll let you sleep."

Startled, but stimulated, the man revived fully and began to cooperate.

Not long after Roy and Johnny resumed care, Rocky grabbed Stoker's sleeve in desperation. "Promise me, fireman. Promise me you'll take care of them for me.  
They need to be fed, watered!"

"Easy, sir. Don't move your head."

"Promise me!"

Mike's eyes widened and he found himself answering. "I'll...see what I can do." Mike replied in surprise, getting sucked in.

Rocky relaxed, still hanging onto the engineer's jacket sleeve firmly.

Gage knelt back by the cot after setting up the flowing I.V. Rampart had ordered.  
"What was that all about?"

"You're not going to believe it. I hardly believe it myself, Johnny. I'll tell you later."  
Stoker replied, disengaging their patient's grip from his arm. He tucked the business card Rocky had given him into a pocket.

Roy was deep into transmitting the rest of their victim's followup. "Rampart, B.P. is up.  
88 over 46. Respirations are stronger, 22 and regular. Pulse is 100 on 15 liters of O2. Bleeding from his head wound has stopped. Cannot assess pupils at this time due to the presence of some non-penetrating carbon debris. We will be patching both eyes following saline irrigation."

In the base station room, Dr. Karen Overstreet acknowledged Roy's report. "10-4, 51."  
Assess breath sounds en route and guard against hypothermia. It's quite possible as he's been soaked to the skin. Send an EKG routine Lead II when you can, and we'll take a look at that, too."

"Good." replied Dr. Brackett. "Now what else should we do?" he asked Karen in the background, leaning in on the counter over her notes.

Karen thought for just a moment and hit on it. "51, see if you can contact the patient's son by using law enforcement to obtain a further medical history."

Dr. Morton also smiled at his protege' intern. "That's the proper thinking outside the box. You are correct. Always use witnesses for more patient information. The firefighters might be too busy and forget to ask them without prompting from you."

##10-4, Rampart. Stand by for follow up and a strip. Our E.T.A is twelve minutes.##

"Standing by." she replied.

Kel Brackett gave Morton and Overstreet a final nod before he left the room to go con Dixie out of a cup of coffee from her set up next to the communications alcove.

Dr. Morton raise a few eyebrows. "That went well. He actually cracked a smile at you, Karen.  
Feel proud. I didn't get one until a few months of answering paramedic calls." he whistled in appreciation.

Karen's elation immediately dampened. "Oh, no."

"Oh, no, what?" Morton asked with a surprised look.

"Brackett's pegged me for a Brice type, Mike! I'm not perfect. Nor am I a by-the-book genius like Craig is!"

"Was."

"Huh?"

"Craig's just as green a captain as you are a doctor. Equal footing as newbies?" Morton theorized,  
balancing both her chart and Squad 51's in-streaming EKG paper strip in his hands like a scale in comparison.

"That doesn't help how our chief medical director feels about the two of us." she sighed miserably. "Kel's got high expectations, doctor. And it's a terminal case."

Mike commiserated, frowning. "Maybe you can talk to someone about it."

"Who?" Overstreet fretted.

Mike's answer was mild. "Sharon Walters. She's been in your exact shoes, remember?"

Photo : Karen Overstreet incredulous, wearing a stethoscope.

Photo : Dr. Morton answering a paramedic call.

Photo : Rocky sitting with his eyes closed, sick.

Photo : A burning oil tanker.

Photo : Roy and Stoker affecting rescue and ventilation care on victims.

Photo : A fire suppressant foam application from an Addison ladder crew.

Photo : Roy and Johnny loading a Mayfair with a victim on fluid and resuscitator support.

From: patti keiper pattik1 Sent:Sun 12/13/15 1:12 PM Subject: Hats

Roy DeSoto gave a nod to Johnny Gage as he opened Mayfair ambulance's rear doors. "I'll go in with Rocky. See if you can find his son for me?" he asked.

"Sure." Gage stopped in his tracks with an armful of un-needed medical gear boxes to load up into the squad. "Wait a minute. How did you find out that he even has children? He hasn't been very talkative."

Roy smiled mildly. "Nothing like a little oil fire to bring on some tunnel vision. Snap out of it.  
Our guy's stable. Stoker solved his breathing issues and Dr. Overstreet's got the ball. I found out by a photo in his wallet, Johnny. They look alike." he said, passing off a shot of their patient with a younger man in front of an old, beat up beach front live-in trailer. "Maybe Vince'll know where this is to track him down."  
Johnny grabbed it, a little embarrassed. "I need coffee."

"And a shower. Phew!" DeSoto teased as hustling attendants slammed the ambulance doors shut between them.

Gage sighed, smelling the shoulder of his liberally smoke stained and slimy jacket. "I'm not that bad." he mumbled to himself. "Hey, Kelly!"

"Yeah?!" Chet hollered back as they crossed paths.

"Do I stink right now?" he said, exasperated.

"Thankfully not at your job." said the curly hair fireman tactfully, seeing that he was in earshot of a Battalion Chief overseeing the knock down of the truck fire.

"Oh, ha, ha." Gage grumbled. "Hey Marco, drive in with him? I gotta follow up on something." he said hefting up the wallet snapshot Roy had given to him.

"Right." said Lopez, passing off his charged water hose to another firefighter from Station 127.

Just as a precaution, Gage dragged out a spare tarp to sit on in the engine. He barely managed to slam the Squad's gear compartment doors shut an instant before Marco took off in full reds'  
flight to follow Roy's ride into Rampart. "Geez. Guess you're glad to end this one." he muttered about the messy, black oil smoke still billowing up into the sky. "I hate oil fires, too."

"Make that, three." said Captain Craig Brice suddenly.

Johnny nearly leaped out of his skin. "Oh, man, Brice. Did you have to sneak up on me like that?"

"I was sneaking?" Craig asked, genuinely puzzled. "Nice work, by the way." he said, slapping a glove down on Johnny's filthy, shiny black shoulder. He immediately regretted it and lifted it off in disgust.

Gage just sighed and sat down on the rear runner board of Engine 51. "Thanks. Is there any hope of an R and R tent with a decontamination shower anytime in the very near future?"

"Not a chance. All of the wild fires going on this summer up in the mountains has them booked solid away from our service area."

"How about me washing off using the Engine's supply?" Johnny asked brightly.

"We're out of water." Brice conmiserated. "Sorry, Gage. You're going to have to wait until we get back to the station." He eyed up the bundle in Johnny's arms. "Yes. Use that." he said, wiping off the oil he got from touching Johnny onto the tarp enthusiastically. Then Brice hefted up his handy talkie and reported in. "L.A., Station 51, we've being released by Battalion Seven.  
Heading back to base for an equipment and personnel refresh as soon as we pack up our lines."

##Station 51. Time out: 1402. Engine Eight's on scene as your relief.## confirmed L.A.

"10-4."

A few minutes later, Stoker, Kelly, Gage and Brice left the neighborhood.

A half an hour later, Dixie McCall was on the phone with Johnny Gage. "Paradise Cove Beach?  
Yeah, I know the place. It's got a nice restaurant. Very cozy. Kel and I eat there all of the time. Usually we end up delivering a baby or two in the back dining room every year.  
But it's a small price to pay for good food. Getting hungry?"

Gage was still soapy in places from his recent scrub down and uniform change. ##Listen, it's not lunch I'm trying to order. Could you call the hostess and have one of them run out and tell the owner of the trailer in the back of their parking lot that his father's at Rampart? Roy just brought him in a bit ago. His first name is Rocky.##

"No problem. Sounds like you're still a bit soggy about the ears." she smirked. "Go dry off."  
and she hung up the phone on him, chuckling. She set about the task of notifying kin.

Nearby Roy DeSoto was chatting at the desk with Joe Early and Dr. Morton a safe distance downwind, leaning on the drinking fountain's steel shell to keep the wall clean. "We still don't know what caused it. There were no other cars involved."

"Sounds ugly." said Mike Morton about the tanker fire.

"Oil fires always burn that way. It was still pretty hot when I left."

"You mean it was." said Marco Lopez, joining DeSoto in the odor quarantine zone,  
away from the E.R. Desk.

"It's out?" Roy asked in amazement.

"Yep. Snorkle 10 just declared being on cleanup detail a minute ago on our channel." Marco grinned,  
in a friendly hint, gesturing at Roy's radio hanging from his belt.

"Oh. Sorry. Thanks." said DeSoto, switching back to their Station's frequency and off medical.  
"I thought it was a little quiet." he mumbled, taking another long drink at the fountain. "Who's missing me?"

"Brice wanted to know if you were on or needed a medical check up after being in all that heat."

"From a single semi?" he chuckled. "That's a green captain for ya."

"He still thinks he's a paramedic first." Joe Early grinned. "Not a bad thing."

"It can be if you don't know which job applies the most in the heat of a moment."  
Dr. Morton surmised.

"I don't doubt Brice. I never have. Maybe Johnny still does a little bit." Roy admitted.

"Johnny will always think of Brice as competition. He started young." Marco laughed.

"But he's learning fast. Both of them." Roy agreed, poking Lopez in the arm with the antennae of his radio. "Okay, we better head back before Craig sends out a rescue party after us."

"See you later." said the Rampart staffers as the two oil stained firefighters departed.

Joe asked Morton. "So how's their lucky driver doing?"

"He's going to be fine with just a precautionary overnight's stay on account of his age. Karen's with him now, following up." Mike shared.

Rocky moaned from his bundle of blankets in the treatment room and tried to get comfortable.  
"I hope they're okay."

Sharon Walters, the nurse, helping Karen Overstreet with Rocky's care, heard the comment.  
"Who, Rocky? I thought there was no one else hurt in your fire."

"Oh. Just a couple of horses I was asked to look after, ironically, for a buddy of mine who's in the hospital." he croaked, his voice still hoarse despite the oxygen cannula he was wearing.

"Such horrific luck." Karen said, after listening to Rocky's lung sounds again. "Find anybody who can check to see how they're doing?"

"Yeah. A fire engineer. Nice young man. I think I made an impression on how urgent it is to stop by at their stable." and then he coughed, wetly.

"Ooo." Overstreet smiled. "Glad I booked you for at least two days. That sounds like smoke inhalation taking a hold."

"Can you clear it up?" Rocky frowned, still weak with exhaustion.

"No problem." Karen smiled."The symptoms you're feeling are only temporary. Sharon, could you set up Respiratory to give him the first of his nebulizer treatments? Here's the order."

"I'll get right on it, Doctor." said Walters, moving to the room's wall phone.

Once the team was there taking over his pulmonary care, the two women stepped out for a very welcome coffee break in the nurse's lounge.

Sharon shyly offered Karen a mug from the wall shelves along with her own. "You know, you do have access to the Doctor's Lounge being an intern and all. You don't have to stay here."

"Oh." Karen blew out a bit of self conscious air. "I guess I.. still feel more comfortable here,  
in with the medics and all the nurses. It's still feels like home to me even though I've changed coats."

Walters didn't say anything else.

And Overstreet felt a sudden gulf open up between them. Karen sighed. "Oh, I hate status differences, don't you? I'm no different than I used to be. We can still have cafeteria lunches together. In fact, I'd welcome that. It's still the only way I get to win debates we get into with Craig."

Sharon couldn't help herself, she giggled. "It's not that. I am just sympathizing with you being under Brackett's gun. It's clearly smoking."

Karen's face fell into shock. "Is it that bad?"

"No, but now I know you're thinking that it is." Walters said, filling both of their coffee cups from the hot pot.

"Sneaky."

"Yep. I learned it from Dr. Morton." Sharon said. "He's an excellent teacher. Even better than Dixie."

"No, really? Doesn't McCall run the place?" Overstreet gaped.

"But Morton shares it. And that's a very good thing for interns." Walters said.

"Have you ever tried getting a chart off Dixie's desk before she's through with it yet?" Karen asked with mock horror.

Sharon turned beet red with a memory.

"Guess you have." Overstreet cackled.

Both women laughed.

Sharon recovered first. "But she's right, though. We're nothing without accurate, up to date charts."

Karen leaned in for the deeply desired pearl. "So how did you get over Brackett?"

Walters spit out her coffee, hysterical laughter taking her. "I took his clothes off."

"You what?!" Overstreet blurted out, her mouth flopping open in utter shock. She immediately checked herself. "Okay, I know you didn't mean that literally. Kel and Dixie have been an unmarried item for years." she said, immediately sober.

"Visualization. I knocked Kel down a few pegs, mentally, picturing him in his boxer shorts.  
It worked. I was no longer intimidated by anything he said and I could work again without being a total klutz case." Walter shared.

"Hmmm." Karen grunted, mulling it over. She sipped her coffee, leaning on both elbows and savoring the mug. Unconsciously, Sharon Walters adopted the same pose.  
"So what color were they in your head?"

Sharon didn't even bat an eye. "What color are Craig's?" she teased. "A few inquiring nurses want to know."

Overstreet laughed openly. "Brice scares nurses?"

"Yeah. So what of it? He's perfect." Sharon said, dead pan.

"He's a paramedic. Er.. okay, no longer. He's just a captain." Karen sputtered, incredulous.

Sharon wilted. "Even worse." she said, sagging in her chair. "He's got two hats now, to our one." she said of all nurses at Rampart, pointing to the paper hat on her head. "And that's really scary stuff. Even from at a distance."

"Could that just be because you're introverted?"

"Nope. Shy doesn't equal unconfident. It means ..a little slow to fire up relationships. But we do get going by the time it matters a hoot." Then she amended herself."Eventually..." she shrugged. Then she eyed up Karen and confessed. "Okay.. I was sent in with you and Rocky because they all wanted the answer."

"Like I wanted mine?"

"Yeah.." Sharon laughed.

"They're black. And satin." Karen said with mock sensuality.

"Ooo.. I'll let them know." Walters giggled like a kid with a happily fresh secret.

Photo: Marco carrying lifebelts by the squad.

Photo: A photo of Jim Rockford and his father Rocky in front of their beach trailer.

Photo: Roy DeSoto standing at the door of a patient loaded Mayfair ambulance.

Photo: Brice and another firefighter looking down at you.

Photo: Karen Overstreet looking apprehensive in a coffee lounge.

Photo: Jim Rockford's beach trailer in a parking lot.

Photo: Sharon Walters wearing nurse whites.

From: patti keiper (pattik1 ) Sent:Sun 12/27/15 9:10 PM Subject: Chafe...

Marco Lopez and Roy DeSoto wearily peeled themselves off the tarp they had lined the inside cab of Squad 51 with to protect the upholstery and got out into the apparatus bay.  
It was late afternoon and the sun was just setting.

Mike Stoker passed them with a wave, heading out to take down the flags for the night. "Dinner's ready." he said, holding a hand over his nose against the wave of scorched petroleum wafting off his coworkers.

"After we shower." DeSoto grinned at him through the oil on his face. "One of these days, they'll design a hazmat suit that fits over our air bottles and we'll be spared slimey jobs like the last one, eh?"

"Can't come fast enough for me." the engineer retorted as his back disappeared out the office entryway door to the front driveway.

Brice peeked his head out of the captain's office. "Ah, I thought I smelled you two at home."  
How's the patient?"

"Out of danger." Roy shared. "There were no complications during treatment for his smoke inhalation."

"That's good to hear." Craig sighed. "Stoker said pretty much the same thing."

"Johnny followed up on scene to find his next of kin so Rocky won't be alone at Rampart." DeSoto added.

"He did? Well... That was going beyond the usual call of duty." Craig said with surprise.

Marco frowned. "Why? Shouldn't we locate victims' family? We hear a lot more contact information from witnesses and patients than the police do."

"Because that's not falling under our primary job description, Mr. Lopez. Our only duty is to protect life and property." Brice answered. "We're technicians, not social service employees.  
We're going to leave the relative tracking to them from now on."

Marco began to color in vague, open mouthed shock.

Roy stopped Lopez in his tracks. "Sir, make I speak freely?"

"You may. There's an open door policy in this department." Brice blinked, leaning on a door frame.  
He was oblivious to the sudden tension blossoming like an ugly flower in front of him.

Roy met Craig eye to eye and he did not look away.  
"There is such a thing called compassion, captain. We dish it out just as thick as we do I.V.s or oxygen. Showing some to the public hasn't interfered with doing our jobs in the slightest." DeSoto said, incredulous. "Please don't ask us not to care a little bit more about the people we help."

"Getting emotionally involved has a price tag, eventually, Mr. DeSoto. A certain distance keeps a firefighter on an even keel in my experience." Craig shrugged.

Marco spoke softly, the oil from the fire cracked and drying on his face. "Craig, some of us aren't wired to work that way. We have to reach out like that. Even to total strangers."

Brice swept out a hand that held the day's log run book. "Maybe it's time to learn to grow a thicker skin, Mr. Lopez. I feel that will raise our overall efficiency considerably in the long run." Brice said. "Don't talk with anyone not related to a call from now on and see how it goes. You'll see that I'm very close to being right."

Marco opened his mouth to blow up at Craig, when Roy grabbed his shoulders and led him away swiftly to the showers. "Thank you, Captain, for your view and assessment." Roy said. "We're both going to get clean now. W-We'll follow your orders."

Brice nodded and returned to his desk.

Once out of sight, the Mexican firefighter protested. "Roy!" Marco squirmed. "What are you doing?" he said, not resisting being dragged. "We're not done with him yet."

"Shh!" DeSoto hissed at Lopez. "Keep your voice down. Marco, he's our Captain. Shut up.  
Come on."

In the bathroom off the bunkroom, Johnny Gage was just finishing up with ammonia and soap and a little floor wax. The whole place was sparkling and crispy. He smiled with satisfaction, swiping off the last of the steam from the mirror. "There.  
Everything's perfect. Bathroom detail.. complete." he chuckled.

Then he heard commotion as filthy Roy and Marco, still in their turnouts, entered and began peeling out of their clothes with hasty relish. Boots, pants, and shirts that were no longer blue hit the floor with soggy splats of black grease and oil stains. Even their under shirts and boxers were midnight and reeking.  
"Hey! No no no... not here! Why not strip outside in the yard like we did?!" Johnny complained.

"It's not very efficient walking all of the way out there and back in the nude, now is it?"  
Lopez snarled. "Might make us slower in getting ourselves set for the next call."

Roy was equally irritated. "Johnny, you knew we were coming. If this bugs you so much, grab out another tarp and we'll pile it all on top of it. So you got toilet detail. So what?! Being stuck doing a little more elbow grease in here after us won't kill you."

"Geez, what the h*ll happened to you guys?" Gage grimaced. Then his face paled. "Oh no.  
Did our truck driver take a turn for the worse? Not after all we did for him."  
Johnny's statement froze Marco and Roy's frustration about Brice cold. Roy looked up and said.  
"Rocky's fine. Going home in a few days." Then he ducked into a shower stall with a box of rags and steel wool to use as skin scrubbers.

Marco bubbled under his ample and steamy water stream. "That's right. I saw him myself. Awake and talking to his doctor. Was that really Karen Overstreet, Roy? The one who saved you from that electrical shock cardiac arrest you went into the other year?" he asked Roy, from his own shower stall as he began to scrub off all his slime.

"Yep!" said DeSoto over the top of his closed stall door over the strong sound of blasting hot water. "Proud of her even more now. She really knows she's her own woman if what I've seen and heard today is any judge." Roy laughed. "She's a case of the student out doing her mentors. You can start smiling about her, too, Johnny. Both of us were her teachers."

"Why were you guys so cross when you came in here? Something's still pissing you off, big time." Gage asked.

Sudden silence stretched out and Johnny found himself stuck watching the mirrors fog up.

"It's Brice." "Yep, Brice." came two voices from behind the two closed shower stall doors.

Gage busied himself with kicking clean rags around to soak up the oil they had dripped off.  
"Why him? He hasn't been bad. I think him being our boss kind of suits him to a T." Johnny said, gingerly picking up Marco and Roy's greasy uniforms, clothes, and jackets with a pair of forceps from his paramedic holster to throw the pieces, one by one, into a convenient laundry bag.

"He thinks so, too." Marco growled. "Looks like we can't be nice any more, Johnny."

"What? Wait! W-Why can't we be nice to our brand spanking new captain?" Gage chuckled.

"No, it's not at him. It's what he ordered. We can't talk to anybody not call related victim or witness. We've all just been forbidden to get involved with any next of kin from now on." Lopez sputtered, getting mad all over again. "We were told it might slow us down job wise."

"You're kidding. Brice said that?" Gage scowled, finally understanding.

There was no reply from the two shower streams raining down. But the affirmation was palpable in the very humid air billowing around him.

"Wow." Johnny said to himself, troubled, as he looked back towards the apparatus bay in the direction of the captain's office. "Boy, wasn't that a pitch way off in left field."

"Thank you for calling, Nurse McCall." said Sara Butler, a formal waitress at the Paradise Cove Beach Restaurant in Malibu. "I'll tell Jim Rockford right away. Who did you say saved my neighbor's dad from the fire? Firefighter Johnny Gage of Station 51? Okay, got it. You're sure Rocky's out of danger? What is the address of the hospital he was brought to so I can tell Jim? Uh, huh. Uh, huh, 1000 W Carson St, in Torrance? I'm writing it down. Thanks for reaching out like this. Rocky and his dad are inseparable. They eat here every week just like you do. Jim's probably worried sick. Rocky was late for their dinner appointment here tonight. Bye, Dixie."

The black and white tuxedo dressed Butler tucked a sandy curl behind her ear quickly as she hung up the phone at the hostess stand. "Melissa, I have to step out for five minutes. There's an emergency contact I need to reach on behalf a regular patron."  
she said, holding up her notes that she took during Dixie's phone call.

The hostess nodded and took a pager and food ordering book from Sara.

Butler planned ahead, pantomiming a break to her boss, who was coordinating a parade of white top hatted chefs preparing a banquet. He held up five fingers and Sara flashed him an okay sign before she took off her tips filled red apron. This she gave to their bouncer to guard.

A minute later, Sara fled the restaurant's affluent atmosphere for the run down beaten up aluminum trailer sitting in the shadows at the edge of the parking lot just off the ocean beach.

Almost stumbling over a curb in the growing darkness, Sara reached the trailer's door and started pounding on it. "Jim! Jim! It's your dad! He's been hurt."

A light flicked on and fifties grizzled, brown eyed, black haired, Private Eye James Rockford, wearing a checked wool blazer and navy pants answered the door. "Sara?! It's about Rocky?! What happened? I've been calling around all over, looking for him." he said, rushing down the three wooden steps to grab her arms to steady her.

Sara was tearful and sat down on the stairs as the seas wind whipped her sandy shoulder length hair around her face. "A nurse said he crashed his truck. Jim, it was burning! The fire department had to get him out in a hurry."

"Oh, I knew something was wrong when he missed our reservation we had at your table! I just got back from waiting in the lobby. Where did they take him?" Jim asked urgently, trying to keep calm.

"Rocky's here." Sara said, handing Jim her notes. "At Rampart Hospital. And this firefighter was one of the paramedics who was with him. He's the one who started the search to find you."

Jim angled the paper to the trailer's dingy porch light. "I know where this place is. And I've got that name memorized."

"Dixie said he's stable and resting comfortably."

"I'll be the judge of that." he said, letting the wind take their piece of paper.

"Jim! He's really okay! How and what she told me felt very believable." Sara shouted as Jim locked up his front door and began to run for his sports car.

"Thanks. I'll let you know what more I find out, hon!" he shouted, squealing the tires on his gold Firebird as he accelerated away. "Take care. Don't worry. I got this." he sobbed with stress and encouragement both. "Get back inside before you get fired, girl." he grinned.

Sara Butler's hazel eyes nervously laughed in relief at his grace under pressure filled joke. Her serious news had successfully been delivered.

Butler was back at her next table half a minute later, her hair neatly returned to its usual efficiently tight bun. "Thanks for waiting. May I take your wine order, madam, sir?"

Her black and white starched uniform only faintly smelled like the sea and her dried up tears.

##Eee Oh ooOOOOooo## came the tones for Station 51.

"Ah, good timing at last. We're done eating." Gage smiled at the gang seated around the table.

"One in a row, man." said Chet, already parked on the couch with Henry sprawled across his lap while he dozed in front of the T.V. "That one is all you guys. Have fun."

##Squad 51. Man down at the Paradise Cove Beach Restaurant. Probable heart attack.  
28128 Pacific Coast Highway, Malibu. 28128 Pacific Coast Highway, Malibu. Time out: 17:55.##

Brice ran out into the bay with Roy and Johnny to write out their run slip and acknowledge the call. "Station 51, Squad 51 is responding. KMG 365." Craig radioed out to L.A.

Gage and DeSoto took off Code 3, taking a right turn to travel north. "Whew! All the way up to Malibu? I wonder what's tying up 99's." Johnny wondered.

"All the brush fires. They're in their neck of the woods, remember?" Roy said.

"Oh, yeah.. ick." Gage grimaced.

"Commute's not that long. I'll call for police escort to speed us up." DeSoto decided.

Gage's mouth fell completely open. "You're doing what?"

Roy smirked, picking up the microphone. "L.A., this is Squad 51."

##Squad 51.##

"Requesting an escort north along the PCH, we're on a priority mutual aid call to our freeway bound location in 99's service area."

##What's your current twenty, Squad 51? I have a unit available.##

Gage took the mic from Roy so he could take a right turn to enter an on ramp. "L.A., Just leaving the Alameda Street exit. Repeating. We are northbound PCH."

##Squad 51, Seven Mary 9 reports an intercept time of three minutes.##

"L.A., 10-4." Johnny replied, hanging up the channel. "A point man at rush hour? Good idea, pally. One of your best I think."

"It was Brice's idea. He had it posted on the suggestions board by the payphone."

"Huh." Gage grunted. "I haven't gotten around to reading any of those yet."

"You should." Roy chided. "Brice may be a new captain but he's an old, long time firefighter. He's been around just as long as I have. He shared my class when we both became paramedics."

"I didn't know that." Johnny said defensively.

"You never asked." DeSoto shot back.

Johnny grew thoughtful and nodded respectfully. "Why haven't you considered taking the cap's test? You're more than qualified."

"That time I almost left the paramedics for an engineer's spot really made me appreciate what I do for a living. This is where I belong, Johnny. Like you told me once at the very start of our partnership, I like being a rescue man, too."  
DeSoto smiled.

He put his poker face back on when Vince showed up alongside their lane. He waved to them in a signal, with his lights and sirens going, and then sped up to take their lead.

Soon, what their patient might present, took hostage of all their thoughts.

Photo: Sara Butler outside of a beach restaurant.

Photo: Jim Rockford on the steps of his beach trailer.

Photo: Jim Rockford's gold Firebird.

Photo: Brice standing by the squad in the apparatus bay.

Photo: Marco and Roy getting mad in the kitchen.

Photo: Paradise Cove Beach Restaurant shot.

Photo: Roy and Johnny looking out of Squad 51's cab.

**************************************************  
From: patti keiper pattik1 Sent:Sun 1/17/16 10:13 PM Subject: The First Aider

Vince Howard was the first one headed for the door of the Paradise Cove Beach Restaurant four minutes later. In his hands was his squad car's E & J resuscitator. "I'll get the man going on this!" he hollered back at Roy and Johnny, who were gathering up their gear as fast as they could.

Melissa, the hostess, met the paramedics in the parking lot with more details. "It's Everett Roush. He collapsed at the bar waiting to be seated. It was like he was choking. But there's no food in front of him from what we can see. Sara and the front of the house manager are with him now."

"Is he conscious?" Johnny asked.

"No. He didn't look so good. Even just a minute ago." said the young woman. "He wasn't breathing well at all. Just one or two wheezy gulps."

Roy spoke up. "Look, ...uh, Melissa." he said reading her name tag. "Stay out here and show the ambulance attendants where we are. Lead them in, okay?"

"I can do that." she promised, worked up with worry. "It's not like anyone's in a rush to be seated now with this happening." she said nervously.

"We'll do what we can." Roy promised, shouldering around her in the still warm beach sand just off the cut log path. "This man has some luck on his side. You folks called us in very quickly."

To the left of some bamboo hut decor and around an indoor planted palm tree, they found an open frame doorway strung with a curtain of crystal beads.

"In here!" hollered the manager. "We're in the bar lounge."

Roy and Johnny knelt down by Vince who was already giving breaths to their patient with a demand valve thumb trigger. "He doesn't have a pulse."  
said the rugged police officer in black. "This young lady started C.P.R. right away, according to her manager." the police officer said, throwing his head at Sara Butler, who was nimbly keeping up chest compressions around Vince's ventilations.

She was counting out loud. "...2, 3, 4, 5... He's not obstructed." Sara shared with the two paramedics. "We checked. He took in breaths we gave mouth to mouth when we began." she offered, only slightly out of breath. "1, 2, 3, 4, 5.." she counted once again, after the police officer filled Everett's lungs mechanically.

"How long has he been down?" Gage asked the manager, who was just beginning to lose his cool.

The Hispanic manager just stuttered, and couldn't articulate a reply.

"Six minutes...eleven seconds..." grunted Sara Butler the waitress, keeping up steady C.P.R. "I got my watch on the floor right next...to his head." she gasped.

"You all right keeping that up for another minute or so?" Johnny asked her, checking their patient's carotid pulse point for adequate pulse beats on compressions.

"Yeah... yeah..." Butler panted. "I won't stop until you...say so. This is...fine."

"We're doing well so far." he told her about the C.P.R.  
Gage flipped open the lid of the white Datascope defibrillator and drew out the handgrip electrodes for a quick paddle read off of the man's bare skin. "I'm reading course V-fib." he told Roy, who was rapidly setting up an E.T. tube and the biophone. "Charging to 400 watts!" Gage reported, hitting the red charge button. He gelled up the paddles and replaced them onto Roush's chest around where Sara's hands were pumping. "On three, get away from him. All right? We're going to shock him with these."

"Okay." Butler nodded, her sandy hair getting into her face. She blew most of it away from her sweaty face with a clever pursed lip puff, as she worked.

"That's very good C.P.R., by the way." Gage shared, impressed.

"I'm a girl scout leader. Got some skills." she smirked for an instant. Then her careful concentration returned.

Gage looked down at the Datascope screen's power readout. "1, 2, 3,... "

Sara leaned back on her knees, lifting her hands up into the air and out of the way.

"...4,... Clear..." Johnny warned.

"Clear!" shouted Roy.

Roush's body convulsed with Gage's delivered shock.

Without prompting, Sara Butler started in again on C.P.R. as soon as the man's body had settled into stillness from the electrical convulsion.

"Nothing... No recapture." said Gage listening with a stethoscope. "Miss?  
A break for you. Take his head. Vince, can you switch with her?"

"Yeah." replied Howard.

Sara didn't waste a moment, trading places with a deft scramble. She properly gave Everett a breath of oxygen through the mask after snatching the apparatus away from Vince's grip.

Roy's eyebrows rose in surprise at her. "You learned that fast."

"I was watching him." she said of Vince, leaning forward to rest a bit on her elbows while she delivered breaths, one every five seconds. "This doesn't feel any different than a beer pour spout." she joked. "Same d*mned button." she shrugged, highly worried about the sick man.

The manager started laughing through his nerves. "You've got our best girl, boys.  
In all things. She handles most of our emergencies, using that real cool head of hers."

Gage grabbed a held out biophone receiver from Roy, to begin their hail. "Rampart, this is Squad 51. How do you read? " He hit the charge button a second time.

Roy got out a laryngoscope and set up positive pressure suction. He left the unpeeled airway lying across Roush's stomach in preparation for the order. Roy looked at the bar keep and at the dinner crowd peppering the lounge who were all watching them with hushed whispers. "Did anybody hear him complain about being sick today? Headaches? Nausea.."

"Nope." came the bartender's reply. "There was nothing oddball until he dropped."

"How old is he?" asked DeSoto.

"68. I've carded him for years." replied their helping waitress. At Johnny's double take, Butler frowned. "I.. like to make older patrons laugh." replied Sara. "No harm in that."

"What's your name again?" Gage half smiled. "Uh, just for communications sake, miss."

The waitress didn't answer, rightfully ignoring him.  
"1,...2...3...400!" said Roy in a firm readout to Gage, purposely interrupting Johnny.  
He quickly took the paddles from his distracted partner's hands and used them.

"Clear!" Johnny answered. Again, Everett was defibrillated. This time, the monitor settled into an ominous, wavery unresponsive flatline, despite the best CPR delivery possible being offered by the very experienced Vince.

Gage finally got a start reply from what was a very busy hospital. ##Go ahead, 51.## came Early's ready prompt over the background noise of several simultaneous paramedic calls being handled by Morton and Brackett, behind him.  
"Rampart, we've a 68 year old, non-obese male. Down from a witnessed cardiac arrest. CPR was offered immediately by wait staff. We've defibrillated times two. No recapture. Now showing a fine asystole despite CPR and 100% O2.." Johnny reported.

##10-4, 51. Attempt an I.V. of Lactated Ringer's. Intubate with an endotracheal tube and administer two milligrams 1/10,000 epinephrine by E.T. Then defibrillate again. Send me a strip.##

Gage complied. "Establish a line of L.R... E.T. deliver 2 mg's epinephrine through a pulmonary route and follow with a third stacked countershock. 10-4."

Roy worked quickly and got the airway in. He told Sara how to tie it off with gauze ribbon so it wouldn't move up or down while in between Everett's teeth.

"What does it say at the tick marks on the tube. Right where he's biting?" DeSoto asked her while he suctioned out some saliva from the man's mouth with a wand.

"15 centimeters." Butler replied, bending low.

"Write it down." Roy told her.

"Got it." Sara said, writing the number in pen onto a table cloth near her shoulder.

"Now keep breathing for him, just like you've been doing on the valve, to just a slight chest rise for each time. Tell Johnny that measurement when he asks for it." DeSoto told her, drawing up epinephrine into a syringe. "It'll help Respiratory manage this tube better, later on."

Butler nodded.

The powerful stimulant was added and one bigger positive pressure vent was used to deliver the medication deep into the man's bronchial passages.

"Got my line, too." Johnny told Roy, hitting the charger on the defib unit with the high flowing I.V. bag hanging from his teeth. "This is times three. 1...2..." he counted off, his voice steadily keeping track of passing time."...3...400 watt seconds. "

"Everybody clear!" shouted Roy, and they instantly were. Roush's body lifted up at the shock with even less muscular reaction than before, with hardly any twitching response to the electricity coursing through his body.  
Vince and Butler started in once again on their solidly working CPR while Roy turned on the cardiac telemetry that he had patched and wired into the biophone to send to Rampart.

Joe Early's response came fast.  
##I see the change, 51. Administer 1.5 mg/kg Lidocaine intravenously, 51. Repeat every 3-5 minutes until a total of 3 mg/kg has been given. Also Bretylium 5 mg/kg I.V.# said Joe, reading the monitor. ## Counter shock one more time. If we don't get an independent rhythm, give another 2 mg.'s epinephrine by E.T. and follow it with a 20 mg. normal saline fluid bolus. Give one amp sodium bicarb I.V.. He's in heavy acidosis...##

DeSoto anticipated. "I'll get a stokes. Let's not wait for the ambulance guys to worm their way into the building through this dinner crowd." He passed over the prepared medications to Johnny and ran for the door.  
"Here, hold this." Johnny told the dining room manager, passing off the I.V. bag.  
Gage parroted their medical orders into the phone. "10-4, Rampart. 2 mg.'s epi endotracheally with a bolus flush of normal saline. One amp bicarb I.V push. Stand by for our fourth countershock." said Johnny.

##Standing by.##

Five minutes later, the Mayfair attendants were loading Mr. Roush with Roy at his head offering breaths by bag and an E.M.T. hovering over his chest, continuing C.P.R.

There had been no improvement on the monitor.

Johnny looked around for Vince as he passed off his gear to DeSoto through the open ambulance doors. "Where did that waitress go? We wanted to thank her for her help."

Howard put away his oxygen equipment and slammed his trunk shut. "Her manager sent her home. He mentioned something about her also dealing with a friend who was injured in a truck fire today."

"She knew our driver from this afternoon?! Roy, did you hear that?" Johnny said.

Vince just shrugged.

So did Roy, who was working quickly to package their patient for their tandem transport by switching out oxygen tubing and hanging I.V. lines from the cot's foot pole.

"I knew I should have gotten her name." Gage sighed regretfully.

Vince went on. "He figured that was enough on the girl's plate for one night.  
I'd go back inside and get her name for you, but I gotta go. My calls are piling up."

"Oh, man. And Malibu's a long way from home. I won't be able to easily get back here to find that kind of information out. They won't give it to me over the phone." he said gesturing at the restaurant.

"Sorry, Johnny." Vince waved. "Can't help you with her."

"It's all right. Thanks, Vince." Gage waved, closing the rig's doors and smacking them after checking them for a tight latch. He watched the policeman drive off. Then he reached up and picked both his and Roy's helmets from on top of the squad's rail bed. "Hey, Roy.. you forgot your-!"

The Mayfair took off, spinning up a large plume of beach sand into the night sky as it began its transport run with full lights and siren on.

"...helmet." he finished, watching the grains sparkle in the moonlight as they rained back down onto the path next to him. "I guess I'll meet you at the hospital with it." he sighed tiredly.

On the way there, he ran all of what they had done through his head.  
Sadly, Gage realized that the man they had handled so smoothly together,  
was probably already just a corpse that they were keeping dutifully warm and pink.  
The latest strip in the bar had shown the ominous earmarks of an end stage result of a heart attack called The Widow Maker.

::H*ll, what a kicker for her. She deserves to find out about both of them, rules or no rules. She tried so hard. I'll find a way to tell her their generalized outcomes at any rate. She already knows who they are.:: Johnny promised.

Photo: The Paradise Beach Cove Restaurant in Malibu.

Photo: Sara Butler smiling in a close up.

Photo: Johnny Gage wearing a stethoscope by the squad.

Photo: People doing CPR on an older man.

Photo: EMTs loading up a stretcher into a Mayfair.

Photo: An open Mayfair at night.

Photo: Vince, Roy and attendant caring for a cot patient by the squad.

**************************************************  
From: patti keiper pattik1 Subject: Finesse...  
Sent:Sat 1/30/16 4:13 PM

James Garner expertly parked in a visitor's space at Rampart. He leaped out of his driver's seat and headed for the nearest pair of hospital staff walking on the grounds. "Which way to Emergency? My father's here."  
he asked.

Two nurses pointed to the velvet roped ambulance entrance door beyond the skyway. "Check at the main desk. Ask for Dixie." said one young R.N.

"Thanks." replied Jim, rushing inside as fast as he could walk.

The E.R. was bustling in the waiting room when the worried private eye stood in the center of a hallway intersection to get his bearings.

A few seconds later, he noticed orderlies and doctors alike making a beeline for the nurse posted desk to his right next to a glass room.  
"Aha. The female organizer behind all the chaos.." he mumbled to himself.

Stepping up to Dixie McCall's charting station, Jim Rockford waited with only miminal patience while the head nurse finished answering her phone call.

"Now, Miss, those are the rules. I can't give out names unless you can prove you are next of kin. I understand you know the patient because you've waited on his table for years, but I'm not allowed to provide protected patient information. I'm sorry. Perhaps if you call one of his relatives. That way, consent to share information can be granted by the family. Okay?  
Try that. Goodbye, miss. Good luck." McCall sighed as she hung up the phone.

She eyed up the fifties, black wavy haired male in a cheap woven suit pacing in front of her thoughtfully. "Ah, if I only had a dime for every time somebody tried to charm private info off of me, I'd be a millionaire.  
I sure hope you aren't one of those schmos, mister. I've had quite a day."

"You're in luck. I'm next of kin, Dixie."

McCall's eyes widened at the mention of her first name which wasn't provided on her name tag.

Rockford held up a defensive hand. "Easy does it. You're fine, Ms. McCall. A passing nurse gave me your name when I was coming in. She pegged me as a genuine I guess."

Dixie relaxed and pulled over her stack of charts a little closer so she could leaf through them. "What's the relation?"

"Rocky, er... Joseph Rockford. My dad. He was in a truck fire earlier in the day."

Dixie began to smile.

"Is that buttering me up for something? Or.. or.. is that good news?" Jim asked with apprehension, fidgeting with one of her pencils.

"Your dad's quite a character, Mr. Rockford. All he could talk about is you.  
That and something about horses." she said, making a puzzled face.

"Horses?! Did Rocky hit his head?" Jim asked, watching Dixie pull out his father's chart. "He hasn't gambled on any since I was a kid."

"Head's fine. I don't think he was talking about racing. Anyway, he just has small cuts and abrasions and he took in little too much smoke. All superficial." At Jim's sigh of relief, Dixie added more. "Sign here and we'll keep him a few days until that moderate secondary cough of his is under control."

"Why do I have to sign his admission papers?"

"Rocky tried to leave to go look after those horses I told you about.  
He's not convinced that the new friend he found will actually do it."  
Dixie explained.

Jim Rockford grunted and penned away his authorization with alacrity.  
"I suggest you post security on his door, Miss McCall. He's one stubborn cuss."

"About as stubborn as you barging ahead of the line?" Dixie grinned again,  
pointing to the waiting room of other folks filling out forms for their family and friends who were patients.

"Yeah. One and the same." he apologized, handing the signed chart back. "I'll find out who that friend is, for all of us, so we won't have an escape happening later on in the middle of the night. Do I have any hope of seeing him today?"

"Ask those two paramedics where he is. They're the ones who brought your dad in." Dixie told him. "Once they figure out that you're a relative, they'll talk a blue streak about him." she promised. "Now I've got some other work to do,  
if you'll excuse me, please." McCall inclined her head.

Rockford took the hint. "Thank you, ma'am." And he ambled away with a polite smile.

He cornered Roy and Johnny by the drinking fountain. "Hi. I'm Rockford.  
I understand you guys rescued my father from his oil tanker this morning.  
I want to thank you. Personally." he said, offering them his outstretched hand for a shake of welcome. "Name's Jim."

"Hello, Jim." "Hi." they replied, straightening up from drinking out of the fountain. "I'm Roy. He's Johnny."

Johnny Gage set a box of supplies on his hip. "Your dad's sure one lucky man. A minute more and that fire would have-"

"...been put out entirely." Roy neatly intercepted. "Saving us the need to rappel him out by the armpits like we did. Coming to see him?"

"I sure am." Rockford said.

"We'll take you there. Our engineer's got some unofficial business with him that we need to clarify." said DeSoto.

"Oh, really?"

"Yeah, turns out your father was babysitting a friend's stables around his work shifts we think. Rocky asked our Mr. Stoker to go take over the favor.  
Our man had to say yes or Rocky never would have left the fire." Gage grinned.

"That conniving, no good.. swindling.." Jim sputtered. "He could have died pulling that kind of sh-"

"No way, sir." Gage said. "We already had the ropes on and he was half way out of there before he even took another breath. Don't blame him. His heart's all in the right place. For you see, I own a few horses myself. I know what he was talking about when he said he'd go through H*ll and high water for them."

Jim frowned at Johnny. "Dixie said my dad's already tried to get out of bed to leave the hospital over this horse thing. Can you help me out at all so that he doesn't try that little stunt again about it?"

Both paramedics nodded.

Gage turned down his H.T. radio noise a little.  
"Sure. Mike Stoker's already said he'll do it. He called me a few minutes ago over the phone to learn how. All we need is the address of that barn from Rocky. He's where we're headed next with your permission." Johnny replied.

"Lead the way, gentlemen. Keep me from killing him in the process, would ya?  
I'm mad as h*ll he got hurt because of a few hundred gallons of mineral slime."  
Rockford growled.

"All's well that ends well." Roy murmured.

"You think?" Rockford snapped. "Sure hope so after all of this nonsense. It's making my ulcers act up something fierce."

A few minutes later, the three men re-entered the corridor on the third floor.

"Good. He's finally sleeping." Rockford said once the door was closed.  
"Are you sure that's not a I'm-really-hurt-pass-out going on?" the P.I.  
fretted.

"It's a sedative." Roy offered with a knowing nod. "I read the add-on label on Rocky's I.V. bag. Dr. Overstreet injected Valium as a piggy back aid to his sugar water just before we got there."

Jim leaned against the wall in fatigue, holding his stomach as he let go a huge sigh of stress.

He felt something cold bump his arm. Jim looked down and saw Roy offering him a bottle of pink anti-acid. "That's for you. Call it mutual aid. Off the record. It'll get rid of that flare up."

"Thanks." Jim said. "If there's anything I can do for you guys, just say the word.  
We owe the fire department. Big time." he said taking a large swig of Pepto Bismo.

"No you don't." DeSoto began.

Johnny cut off his partner, "Ah,.. just a second, Roy. There may be a ..small favor he can do for us... uh, for me." he amended when Roy began to glare at him.

"You see, Mr. Rockford, there's this gal who helped us out a lot today with a heart attack victim. We want to thank her, but we don't know her name."  
Johnny shrugged.

Jim Rockford began to smile. "Where does she work?"

Johnny blurted out his answer quickly.  
"Uh, the Cove Beach Restaurant in Malibu. She stands about five three,  
long curly blond medium length dirty blond hair, eyes you can get lost in.."

"They're hazel." Roy supplied with a incredulous grin at Johnny's bravado.

"She's a waitress. One heck of a level head on her shoulders-"

"Wait a minute." said Rockford. "Does this young lady happen to wear her emotions on a sleeve with a cool intellect that could burn holes through your ears?"

"That's the one." Gage said.

"I know who she is."

"Wow, uh, okay. What's her name?" Johnny grinned crookedly.

"I'm not going to tell you." Rockford said, crossing his arms with a neutral expression.

"Well,... why not?" Johnny sputtered. "All we want to do is thank her. Maybe give her an award for.."

"I'm a private eye. My services cost."

"How much?" the Native American paramedic swallowed dryly.

"I charge two hundred dollars a day plus expenses."

"That's a rip off! For providing us one name?!" Johnny sputtered.

Roy shushed the pair of them, dragging both Jim and Johnny away from Rocky's door so he wouldn't hear all the shouting.

"My dad's bills aren't going to be free and guess who gets stuck paying them when the social security check runs out?" Jim glared back.  
"I'm not a rich man. I live in a trailer."

"That's cold."

"No, that's life." Jim countered. "So what's it gonna be? Another hand shake?"

Sighing, Gage honored the agreement with some return skin.  
"Yes, sir. You drive a hard bargain."

"No, a necessary one. One that benefits only my father." Jim grinned.

"Great. That settles that. What's her name?"

"I'm not going to tell you until you pay me first for one entire day."

"What?!" sputtered both paramedics.

Jim Rockford stopped leaning on the wall and began to lean forward.  
"Fair's fair. I've been swindled once too often by clients who decide not to pay up for services rendered."

"We fight fire, mister! We're not crooks." Gage protested.

"For whatever disease you have that allows you to do that, I'm sure it's got letters and that they make lots of little pills for it."  
Rockford said, walking away. "We'll be in touch."

"You don't know how to reach us." Johnny yelled after him.

"I'm a private investigator. I can find out anything.  
It's about time you have a little faith in one of us professional snoops,  
Mr. Gage. I sure had a lot when you fellas rescued my father.." he challenged back.

Photo: Joseph "Rocky" Rockford in bed with a bandaged head.

Photo: A smiling Jim Rockford in a hallway.

Photo: Dixie McCall, talking no-nonsense, exiting a treatment room.

Photo: Roy DeSoto listening to an H.T. radio.

Photo: Johnny Gage wearing an incredulous smile.

**************************************************  
From: patti keiper (pattik1 ) Subject: Comeuppance.. Sent:Sun 8/07/16 8:55 AM

Hank Stanley's fingers itched to receive his white hat. It had been a week of exercises, written and practical exams, and finally the last of the detailed testing by the chiefs' board from the county. He knew his scores were good. He knew he deserved a battalion's spot. ::I've been a proverbial carpet for chiefs' shoes long enough.:: he smiled mentally.  
::Lay it on me.:: he let go with a sigh.::I want to be free of that.::  
"...And in conclusion," droned on the highest chief of the Fire Department.  
"..all of your years of hard work and dedication have finally paid off. I can think of no finer candidates to add to our top team."  
Stanley watched as Houts smoothed the white cloth on top of a brand new graduation style chief's hat absently as he gave his speech.  
"May I call up our very own Captain Henry Stanley of Station 51, Division Seven?"  
::Now.:: Hank thought. He got up from his chair and dreamily made his way up to the front of the class next to the podium. Houts held out the creamy white hat to him using both of his own white dress gloved hands formally, smiling widely. "Here you go, Hank. I'm very proud of you. Congratulations, Fire Chief Stanley, welcome to our ranks."  
Hank no sooner touched its rim when it suddenly burst into flames a foot high.  
"Ahh!" cried Cap. He leaped backwards and dropped the burning hat in horror.  
"What th-?!"  
Unexpectedly, Houts and the whole class exploded in uproarious laughter,  
adding to Hank's stunned confusion. A fire cadet appeared instantly from around a corner with a handy fire extinguisher, and put out the fire.  
"Just a joke, Hank. Relax. This was Chief McConnike's final request as stated in his will. We had to honor it to the letter. You see, he didn't want you to have just a brand new piece of freshly commissioned get up for your special day. No... He wanted to leave you his very own personal hat to wear for the rest of your days as... what he had always considered you to be... a very respectable career man. So consider this as so bequeathed. With both of his and my deepest honor and duty, we now bestow this token of your new office."  
McConnikee's hat was encased in a clear plastic cellophone dust cover, packaged neatly on a pillow of blue velvet. It was richly aged. It still glowed with a purity of snow white that rivaled the factory made sets awaiting the rest of the class. A highly polished challenge coin was nestled to one side of the black head band. Stanley pulled it out in his fingertips with real reverence and some bemusement. He read its inscription aloud."To the ultimate prankster, a one Hank Stanley." Lying underneath it, was a note sealed in red drip wax. Hank quickly opened it. He read to everybody,  
choking up as he did so. "See? I finally got your name right, son. And I got my final revenge. Serve the department well and long my friend. All my best, including my favorite red car to drive, is now yours." The room erupted in cheers and a standing ovation. Stanley was suddenly overwhelmed with emotion, eyes finally overbrimming. There was nothing sweeter than Emily's arms as she rushed up from the audience, wrapping herself around him as Houts crisply set McConnikee's revered hat on Hank's head. He turned around and acknowledged his commander in chief with a hand shake. "I'll never top it, sir." he said to Houts. "That stunt was...absolutely awesome!"  
"To tell you the truth, Hank, I don't think anyone ever will. Please, call me Richard.  
You can do that now."  
"Yes, sir." Cap beamed. An hour later, the CIC came back to Stanley's side as Cap reluctantly pulled off his new hat until he was officially on the job.  
"Oh,.. a word of advice." whispered Houts. "If I catch you or any one of your stations' men ever calling me Ricky, on or off duty, I'll demote and bust you back down to captain so fast, your trumpets'll spin." he said with a wink, pointing at Cap's now old rank insignia pins on his collar. "See you later. I'll probably be hearing from you over the radio sooner in the future, than what we've initially planned for you. The Escondido fire is turning into a storm, Hank. It's so hot, it's beginning to burn water." he said significantly.

"I'll be ready. And... thanks for the bump up. I've really been wanting this, sir."

"Uh huh... For years. We've known." Houts said, smiling. "That's why we prepped you so heavy and let you stew a while. Your job as everybody else's chief is only going to get harder as more people come to live in our county. We have to be ready. Keep in touch." said the chief, saluting in ceremony, and dismissal. "I have to go. Duty calls."

"Yes, sir, it does." Cap returned the salute and watched as his commander walked away.

A change in the light suddenly made Stanley looked out the window at the sky. It was the color of blood. ::Wildfire smoke? Here?:: he wondered in his head. ::We're nowhere near the mountains.::

Cap rushed out the door and down the hall to the L.A. Headquarters dispatching area to see what was happening in the heart of his fire department.

Photo: A brush fire leaping across a road at night.

Photo: L.A. Headquarters and a line of red fire chief cars parked.

Photo: Cap, grinning in a white captain's hat.

Photo: Chief Richard Houts in a white ceremonial hat.

Photo: Emily Stanley, Hank's wife, smiling at him.

Photo: A red battalion chief's car, with its driver's door open, smoky air.

*************************************************** Date: Wed 11/2/2016 5:46 AM From : patti keiper pattik1  
Subject : Out Foxed..

"I'll take a double deep chili dog. Hold the mustard." said James Rockford at Davey's Dogs.

It was full night and the night crickets were already in full voice around him.

Johnny Gage, seated to Jim's left on another stool was oblivious to ordering food. His eyes had priority over his empty stomach because they were full of their third companion, Sara Butler. "Wow." said the infatuated young paramedic. "I can't believe they gave you the night off from work." he grinned. The hearts for the slim waitress were evident in his voice as well as his eyes.

Sara Butler smiled. "I was surprised, too. But Mickey said I needed a reward for saving one of his best regular customers." she chuckled, biting into her foot long hot dog.

Gage practically drooled on his rust and bone colored western shirt. "I can just imagine what that's like."

Rockford shook his head at Johnny and facepalmed. "Nothing like a little innuendo to sweeten up a date, eh?" he murmured to himself.

"Huh?" his two companions replied, distracted with either dinner or open full blown admiration.  
The private eye covered his tracks nimbly. "Nothing like a little dins, you. Eat up. We're late."

"Where are we going next?" Johnny asked.

"My place to settle up, if you catch my drift." Jim said unsubtlely. Then he winked.

Gage's crush face immediately fell into disappointed recollection of the two hundred dollars finder's fee he still owed the P.I.

"Settle up what?" asked Sara.

Jim was merciless. "Oh, just a ...bet." he lied. "Our young fireman friend here wanted something really bad. So I gave it to him." he said ironically.

Johnny's face flopped wide open in shock. He immediately flashed, shut-up gestures at him behind Sara's back until she turned around and looked at him in puzzlement. By then, he was already innocently sucking on a malt straw.

Jim winked, then pounced. "So,..who gets to walk you to your door after supper tonight?" he asked Butler with a winning smile.

Gage tried not to look thunderstruck as his latest crush eyeballed them both with a mischievious grin on her face. "You." she sighed, stuffing a cold french fry into her mouth enthusiastically. "Because you asked first, Mr. Rockford." she declared.

Johnny tried his best to look gracious behind them.

Sam Lanier looked up as Hank Stanley entered the communications bay of L.A. Headquarters. "Capt.. OHhhh...chief now?" he sputtered, seeing the white hat and formal dress uniform he was wearing.

"In title only." muttered Hank wryly. "I'm still a cap, duty wise, until the rest of the pile of paperwork pulls through." Stanley leaned over Sam's status board.  
"I couldn't resist taking a peek. Our illustrious commander-in-chief cut short our graduation ceremony acceptance speeches and came directly here."

"With good reason." said the dark complexioned dispatcher. "It's the San Bernadino Gorge neighborhood. A hot spot's broken out."

Hank sucked air in between his teeth. "Oh, boy. I know that place well. It's been the subject of the next-to-go-up-in-serious-flames talks for years now. Overgrown with drought killed manzanita and cholla brush two stories high."

"Yep. Since the late 1960s. It's a miracle that tinder trap's waited this long to ignite."

"How many homes are in danger?" asked Cap.

Sam picked up his notes. "Two. And a hydroelectric plant above the dam."

"Ow.." he sympathized, adding layers of complexity to the difficulty of the new firefight to come around the industrial site. "And if I remember rightly, that water pump at the top of the gorge is a drinking supply source for millions?"

"I'm afraid so."

"All right. Too bad we can't get permission to open the flood gates. They're facing in the wrong direction. Okay, which building is closer to the fire?" Captain Stanley asked, looking at the map Sam had pulled up on the topography of the area. "House One. Here. On a ridge. It's directly downwind of the origin point."

"Send the specs and the current situation to Brice at 51's. I'll be choosing to station them at the new EOC the CIC's currently game planning. I need his kind of thinking."

"I'll get right on it, sir." Sam replied, settling a microphone/earphones set on top of his head.

Hank paused, half way out the door. "Sam.. Do they know the cause of this new brush fire yet?"

"P.D. said it's suspicious. They spotted a man with a backpack running for cover, away from the second house now inside the fire zone, during an active burglary call. The cops saw him disappearing down hill into the darkness. Soon after, a news chopper spotted the blaze in the gorge."

"Damn. Arson, as a get away distraction.." grumbled Cap, making a xerox copy of the map Sam had shown to him. "Plenty of caves down there to hide in, too."

"Almost a certainty. What's one more felony between friends?" shrugged Lanier. "A good thing is, he was apparently doing his thieving, and that fire starting, alone."

Hank Stanley was not comforted in the slightest. "Between you and me, Sam, at this time of year, just one guy's probably enough to burn the whole county down."

"So where are we headed?" Gage needled Stoker in the Volkswagon Beetle the engineer was driving. "We have to be at Staging for the fire at three."

"We won't be far from there, Johnny. Do you remember our last victim call?" he asked, passing over a business card that he pulled out of his uniform shirt pocket.

"Yeah, the hapless trucker. The dad to that annoying P.I. who scampered off with both two hundred dollars of mine and my girl."

Mike smiled in sympathy. "That was a finder's fee rightfully earned and our contact there's name, is Rocky."

Gage peered at the card using his penlight and read the address off of it. He grimaced at first at the sight of what he thought was old blood. Then he remembered that it was actually crude oil, color changed by fire retardant effects. He sniffed the card in a test. "So why are we going to this place?"

"I sort of promised him that I'd take care of a couple of his friend's horses while he was laid up." said Stoker.

Johnny sighed. "Aw, Mike, You didn't."

"I had to, or he never would have cooperated getting carted off to Rampart with you guys." Stoker defended.

"So that's why Brice told us we couldn't talk to next of kin any more in the future. He must have overheard what you said to Rocky. You made him a promise that never should have been made?" the dark haired paramedic reasoned.

"Yes. It had to be whatever it took to get him out of there."

Gage finally shrugged. "I know. It's always tempting to say things to get cooperation in a victim. But do you know what you're getting us into?"

"Yeah." Mike said. "Rocky filled me in over the phone from his hospital room. There's only two, and they're draft horses."

Johnny swallowed in relief. "Good. We won't need to groom them. Heavyweights don't like to roll on the ground."

"Now you see why I dragged you along. Not only are we saving a little gas by carpooling to the fire, I get your expertise on caring for them."

"Just this time. I'm not the one who promised the moon like a certain fireman engineer did."

"Thanks for your help for just this one day then." Mike inclined his head.

"You're welcome." Johnny finally grinned. "It's been a long time since I've had a chance to play with draft horses. It's usually a lot of fun."

"Is this it?" asked Johnny as they pulled up to the edge of a wide canyon bottoms meadow that was ringed in white wooden fences.  
An alfalfa field stood three feet high inside.

Mike Stoker aimed a flashlight up at the still early morning shadowed property archway gate sign that curved over the road. "Tucker's Glen. Property stake... 007416." he read off of the reflective marker beside one of its posts. "Yep. We're here. And both of them should be in there." He pointed into the tall grazing grass pasture beside them.

Gage got out after they parked near a well kept barn that had its weathered main double doors cracked slightly open in invitation. "I got this. I know how to bring 'em in. No way are we gonna find and catch them in all of that tall feed over there."

The two blue jeaned firefighters walked up to the pasture's gate near a pair of hanging red leather and chain halters and lead ropes.

Johnny swung open the gate wide, passing off one of the halter sets to Mike to dangle from his forearm. "Just copy what I do after they come in." Gage reached for a bucket of sweet feed tucked protectively under the water trough. He whistled shrilly, then shook the steel pail until the sugary grain within rustled loudly. "Dinner time, guys! Soup's up!" he shouted. Mike and Johnny eyed the waving field expectantly. There came a dubious, unseen equine snort from the curtain of grass, but no answering thunder of hooves at the summons and promise of a treat. After a minute of vocal encouragement, he gave up. "Huh." he grunted. "That trick usually does it. I don't know why it didn't work this time."

Stoker sighed tolerantly. He marched over to the horse's water well and rang a very large metal triangle musically with its hanging striker. A peel of excited whinnying filled the air and suddenly, the wall of alfalfa grass exploded apart when at two huge Shires, a black and a red, burst into view rushing at them at a full gallop.

Johnny's mouth dropped full open. "H-How did you do that?" Gage wondered as the horses eagerly thrust their heads into the halters offered to their noses. The frisky horses quieted down into bouncy energy laden prances as they trailed behind their handlers.

Mike shrugged. "They don't want food, Johnny. They were already surrounded head high in the stuff. All they wanted was a little action." He grinned widely. At Johnny's puzzled look, he flung open the barn doors which let in the rich sunlight all the way to the back stalls.

The dusty air from the sweet smelling straw and sandy interior cleared away, revealing the glint of brass, polished chrome and the red and black filigree paint art of a turn of the century horse drawn steam fire engine. It appeared lovingly maintained to a fine polish over every inch.

Mike chuckled as the black horse he held easily dragged him good naturedly over to nuzzle the heavy black and silver studded work collar of a fire horse's brightly painted harness. "I'm told these two are the retired parade route fire horses the city of Santa Barbara used to keep as their symbolic mascots back in the day for their fire department. This black boy is Neb. And the red mare you've got is Sally. They were raised, trained and have lived together since they were foals. Rocky told me our job now is to curry them up, condition treat their hooves, then get them into this team hitch and go out for a spin around property every couple of days, with that." he said, pointing to the shining, sparkling fire rig behind them.

"Far out. Really?" drooled the dark haired paramedic. Johnny couldn't honestly decide right then in that moment, about which of the two he was most excited about, the horses, or the idea of driving heavy drafts on top of the gleaming antique fire pumper.

Mike just nodded, letting his friend recover from the shock of encountering two of his favorite things.

"Thanks for asking me instead of Chet."

"You were my only choice for this, Gage."

Photo: Rockford and a waitress at a hotdog stand.

Photo: Rockford eating a hot dog.

Photo: The waitress eating her food.

Photo: Johnny in streetclothes looking outgunned.

Photo: A horse drawn fire steam engine.

Photo: Mike Stoker by the engine in the bay.

Photo: L.A. Dispatcher, Sam Lanier, paging out a brush fire.

Photo: Chief Hank Stanley, looking pleased as punch.

Photo: A white L.A. Co. F.D. helmet.

Photo: A red Battalion chief's car, spotless.

**************************************************  
From: Patti Keiper pattik1  
Date: Wed 11/9/2016 2:41 PM Subject: Under Fire..

A half an hour later, they were half way up the trailhead, having the time of their lives.

"Whoa, Neb! Easy, Sally! No need to run any more. You're in your golden years." Gage laughed to the draft horses underneath his reins. A light hand was all it took to guide them over the path.

Mike Stoker was fiddling with his HT while he sat in the seat on the antique fire engine next to Johnny.  
"Aren't you curious about what's going on with our brush assignment yet?" he said, holding the radio to his ear so he could listen to all of the radio chatter.

"I don't need high tech. All I need to do is look up." the dark haired paramedic teased, pointing skyward.

An ominous tri-color gray cloud of a growing wild fire smoke column was clearly visible through the canyon trees to their left. When the wind was right, they could smell the fire.

"No wonder the horses want to run. They think they're answering a call here." Stoker marveled. "I'm sort of glad I filled the tank on back. We might run into a hot ember storm or two up there."

"Still want to get up high and look at it?" Johnny asked.

"Yeah. I want to know how many days we're going to be stuck over there fighting that fire with the brush crews.  
My wife wants an estimate on how long I'll be away for this one."

Ebony black Neb snorted, picking his feet up as eagerly as his red stablemate, as they snuck into a canter from a casual trot. Johnny obliged them. "Okay, you two. Only because I know you got good shoes on your feet.  
Step lively." he clucked.

The draft horses wearing their spark blinkers tugged along the little red and gold steam powered fire engine a little quicker behind them.

Mike Stoker had out the map of the property. "The right fork coming up leads to the top of the ridge by the dam."

"Got it." Gage replied. "Should be a good enough vantage point."

"I could call L.A. and get a fire report that way." Mike said, turning up the traffic volume on their HT.

"Where's the fun in that? The horses wanted to do this as much as we did. Just chill. There's a whole mountain range between us and that burn. Let them get their kicks. I can't see that private eye's father tackling this hill with them. We're probably giving them the last chance they'll ever get to see a real fire again." Johnny replied.

Mike Stoker smiled at that as his teeth rattled with the rough travel from the fire engine's wagon wheels.

Suddenly, they were there at the summit, overlooking the lake reservoir. The whole sky opened up before them.

"Ho!...Hold up, yokes. We're there." Gage eased the excitedly blowing Neb and Sally to a halt at the end of the trail by a pair of houses built on top of the picturesque ridge. On the shoreline, they could see the fire department helicopters lined up to fill their drop tanks. He counted them. "One, two, three... nine, ten,...eleven..Wow. Looks like at least three counties worth of choppers are here."

Mike and Johnny could make out the tall red flames shooting up out of the gorge far below them in between the trees.  
Stoker commented. "Those are almost big enough to leap the gap between canyon rims."

"Do you see any crews down there?" Gage asked.

"Not yet. But I've heard them talk about this firebreak point. It's in the plans to mobilize in the morning to see if they can save these two structures and the dam's main utility building." Stoker shared.

The wind shifted and suddenly the smoke billowed up from below and buried them in inky blackness. The two draft horses obeyed their training and suddenly went still in the darkness.

"There's going to be embers soon, Johnny. Feel that heat." Mike told him.

"What do you want to do then? Lay down some water?" he joked.

"Yeah." the engineer nodded seriously. "How about around this clearing on either side of the dirt road? You and I both know that this is where smoke jumpers are going to land next to configure the chiefs' plan of attack and build a camp."

"All right. Rocky said all the water's free to waste. So let's do it." Johnny agreed. He set the brake on the fire engine and the two of them dismounted from the seat. It only took a moment to drape the wet nose cloth bags around Neb and Sally's muzzles to protect them from any wind blown ash rising up out of the burning canyon miles below.

The red fire hose was short but it did the job nicely. They used up their last gallon around the driveway of the closest house that was painted a light yellow. It had a peach stucco roof and a small flower garden around its swimming pool.

"These old things really work!" Johnny celebrated, patting the side of the old steam fire engine. "That should save the ground crews a whole lot of prep time getting things set up here."

"Should we let L.A. know what we did to help out?" Mike asked Johnny.

"Nah. Let them see the fresh mud, all of the hoofprints, and zero tire tracks. Let em marvel."  
Gage was reeling up the last of the hose onto the steam engine's back rack when his eye fell onto a row of windows on the house. One of the window panes was shattered and his eye caught the glitter of glass shards on the ground whenever the sun broke through the banks of fire smoke sweeping over the path. "I don't believe it. Hey, Mike. I think looters are out already. That window over there's newly broken."

"There are no cars up here, Johnny. Whoever it is, they're on foot."

"Let's flush them out for the home owners by making some noise. It's the least we can do. They're probably just kids."

"Wait, I'll let L.A. know first." Mike countered. He got on the radio."L.A., this is Mike Stoker, County 51. We're on the ridge by Firebreak 210 at the top trailhead. We're off duty but we're going to check out signs of a burglary at 17502 Aspen Way. Notify P.D. to respond. We see no vehicles in the immediate area. Might be past action."

##Proceed with caution, 51. Records show that there was a police response at another address in your area last night. They were seeking a possible at large burglar/arsonist.## the dispatcher advised.

"Understood. Uh, we'll make no approach then. This for P.D.: There are signs of break-in window damage on the south side of the house."

##10-4, 51. P.D. has been notified. They report an E.T.A. of 25 minutes.##

Mike Stoker eyed up the silent house nervously as they turned the horses back by hand around to go back to the hobby farm down the dirt road. They both climbed up into the fire engine riders's seat. Gage clucked and jigged the reins on top of Neb and Sally's back to get them moving. They were both grateful for the cover of the thickening smoke to hide them as they left.

They were rounding the bend, just around the corner from the hobby farm's alfalfa field, ten minutes later. Gage had the brake applied for the steep hill leading down to the canyon's floor so the fire engine would not be a huge weight for Neb and Sally to resist while they descended into it. "I hate people some times." he told Mike. "Here we are in the heart of rural canyon country and still, crime follows us. It's ugly to hear about it. And it's definitely no fun to think about it, even casually."

"Yeah, well, at least we're not seeing any today." said Mike. "That could have been really bad back there at that house."

"I was only trying to help out, Mike." Johnny said. "I'm a home owner and I guess I sympathized a little bit too much with another one."

"Uh huh." Mike agreed mildly. "Let's stick with fighting fires. We know how they roll a lot better."

Suddenly, a shot rang out from the forest surrounding them. One of black Neb's ears disintegrated in a plume of blood and the old black horse reared up in blinding pain. He careened sideways into red Sally, trying to escape his agony.

The jolt ripped the hold Johnny had on the brake lever on the steep slope, freeing both horses to panic bolt down the road. Stoker's HT radio went flying off into the darkness and was lost. Their increasing speed almost toppled the heavy steam fire engine thundering behind them. Both driver reins snapped apart and began flapping loosely in the wind. Gage saw that they were now totally useless for trying to control Neb and Sally's headlong flight.

The firefighters threw themselves down onto the floor of the engine's top deck off the seat. ""We've got to stay under cover, Mike! That was gunshot!" Staying on board was proving very difficult. They got bruised with every bounce. "Try for the brake with your foot! I can't reach it any more. Kick it hard, or we're gonna tip over and get crushed!" Gage screamed.

Stoker and Gage struggled to slow the horses. They ran out of time. A rut in the road sent the fire engine flipping when the horses leaped over the gap and the front wheels jammed themselves deep within it. Mike and Johnny were thrown high into the air. The hitching pin snapped in two, detaching the steam engine from the horses and their harnesses in a spray of jumbled leather.

The last thing Johnny remembered was a pine tree's trunk rising up fast to meet his face.

Photo: Custom Image: Roy and Johnny driving an antique steam fire engine with Neb and Sally away from a brush fire.

************************************************** Subject: Ghosts...  
From: patti keiper pattik1 Date: Mon 2/6/2017 5:51 AM

Sara Butler snuggled a little deeper into James Rockford's arms by the fire at her place.  
Before them sat two untouched wine glasses, half full of chardonnay. "I hate making choices." she sighed, resting her head against Jim's shoulder.

"I wasn't aware of you deciding anything past ordering a chili dog or two. With onions." he said, burying his nose in the hair at the top of her head affectionately.

"Oh. Is my breath that bad?" she blushed.

Rockford grinned. "I can't tell. I ate onions, too." he chuckled, bending over to give her a tender smooch on the lips to wipe away her discomforture.

Sara tilted up her head. "That was nice." she smiled into his eyes from an inch away. "Any more where that came from?"

Jim was zeroing in again on Sara's mouth when the sharp tones of the EBS system on the turned down TV set got their attention. They both broke off from their embrace and sat up straight, paying attention.

"The emergency broadcast system's on alert in town? I wonder what for." Butler wondered, getting up and setting their wine on a nearby dining room table.

"It's been a long time since I've heard one of these." said Jim.

Rockford turned up the volume. ##...borhoods south of Alameda Dam should evacuate immediately. Strong southerly winds are driving flames out of the canyon and over the ridge, directly into the city.##

Jim shot into action. "Sara, Let's go grab a suitcase. I can help you pack anything you need. You can stay with me until this entire mess is over, I live on the beach." he told her.

"I think I just might." Sara said, glancing out the window into the darkness. "Look." she pointed.

A lurid orange line of fire, already tree tops tall, was lighting up the hillside about a fifth of a mile away.

"Can we still get out?" Jim asked, moving aside a curtain to study the road in front of her condo.

"I don't know. Both ways into town lead right into all of that." she frowned, getting quietly unnerved.

"Think it through." Jim said, gently grabbing her shoulders. "Do you recall any other alley or path that might be an alternative escape route for us?"

"Under the telephone poles." Sara, remembered, squeezing her eyes shut tight against the sight of the approaching fire. "I see kids riding their bikes down there all of the time. It might be an access road, but it's not paved."

"My Firebird can handle the dirt. Lord knows I've had plenty of practice. Let's go." Jim told her snatching at her hand to yank her a little faster towards the master bedroom closet.

Dr. Karen Overstreet was with Dr. Morton in a treatment room that had turned into an emergency surgical intervention on a two month old baby. Mike and Karen were wearing scrubs that were already soaked in front with sweat and dripping through their browband caps.

"Why isn't this a clear cut case?" Overstreet hissed with a touch of panic as she searched for landmarks with her retractor and scalpel inside of the baby's chest through the pool of blood being siphoned off by a nurse holding a vacuum tube.

Mike gave her encouragement. "There's no such thing, Karen. Trace along the interstitial margin, the mediastinal mass should pop up when you press down on it. It'll give us better exposure."

"She was doing fine." Overstreet mumbled, concentrating so hard, her teeth hurt as she clenched them. "Normal morning, ate well, no breathing distress symptoms, then poof!  
Both of her lungs collapse and don't respond to reinflation by chest tube."

"Classic squamous cell tumor." Morton shrugged, helping her move the baby's trachea aside to make room for her search. "Neonate lungs can fail like this even with small sized benign growths." He glanced up at the baby's anesthesiologist. "What's her pressure?"

"50 and holding." the burly man reported. "Color's starting to slip though." he said, leaning over the intubation respirator machine breathing for their tiny patient as he watched her airway tube.

Morton barked at the surgical nurse nearest his tray of instruments. "More surfactant!  
5ccs, I.T. The lungs walls are starting to adhere to each other already."

"Damned dry California air." cursed the tube doctor.

"Can't we moisten her oxygen?" Karen fretted, working faster.

"Good idea." Morton said, "Max?"

"Adding a neb." he promised, refitting the baby's breathing machine tubes with a hissing humidifier chamber creating mist. "Can't do this long, or we'll have a drowning baby to go along with just the non-breathing one."

Morton nodded. "Buying us time. We don't know how many holes she has yet here. Everything's still too bloody."

"Infection caused perforations?" Karen guessed.

"Yes. She presented as septic very late in her ambulance run. Her paramedics almost lost her."

Overstreet felt a sudden lengthening of her thread that she had just knotted over a lung hole.

"Necrotic tissue!" Karen shouted. "My suture's just torn through."

" Your 5.0 is correct. Grab into the pink edges, farther back. Pull together the healthy edges around that foreign body." Morton ordered. "We'll dissect that out for biopsy later.  
Do you see its purplish pink borders? This could be a malignancy."

"I sure hope not." Overstreet panted, getting unnerved by all of the audible alarms starting to activate because of their tugging and pulling. "Pressure?" she prompted their gas man.

"Forty five palpated and holding." the man replied. "EKG is tachy, but I'm still reading normal sinus rhythm."

Dr. Morton sought to calm his fellow physician with the same lecturing voice he used when Karen was a student under his rounds. "It's more than vaso vagal effects here, Karen. Her hypotension is concomitant. Being this close to the vagus nerve like we are on the bronchial tree is-"

A thin bright fountain of blood suddenly shot up, catching the two of them in the face with its warm gore. Dr. Morton recovered first, his eyeglasses having saved him from being blinded. Mike dropped his tools on the floor and buried both of his hands under the lungs. "Pack this off! It's an aortic nick!" he ordered. "Use a clamp over it if you have to."

"I'll rush the cardiac team." another nurse said, fleeing for the red phone in the wall.

Karen fought a monstrous instinct to pull away and wipe her face free of the steaming blood.  
She let a scrub nurse towel off the worst of it and clean her eyes. Then she began to stuff sterile gauze squares by the handful around Dr. Morton's hands. "Did I do this?" she asked in a trembling voice.

"No." Dr. Morton replied immediately. "The tumor was adhered to the vessel's wall through the back of the lung. It was already tearing away. See the fresh scarring? It's about a month old. Ugh.." he grunted with effort. "The mass feels a lot bigger than what we can see."

"I've lost a pulse." Max announced evenly.

Dr. Morton stuck his finger in the hole. "Karen, start cardiac massage. Use just a finger and a thumb. Go gently. Her heart's only the size of a walnut. I'll try and cauterize this shut until the reconstruction team can get in here and repair it. This arrest is not hypovolemic. It's because of vagal tickling. I saw a tumor root wrapped around the vagus nerve. We might be able to still bring her back if it hasn't grown any farther than that."

Karen sobbed her stress as she slipped nimble fingers under Morton's to begin her CPR.  
No sooner had she begun soft work when a large upwelling of blood filled the baby's chest, obscuring their view. Overstreet's mind went numb, she could feel the tumor wrapped in a new place around the anterior lower end of the heart that was poking all of the way through a ventricle. Already a split had parted tissue despite her careful efforts. She lifted her hands away, and shreds of abnormal stringy tumor came away with them. "It just fell apart! The tumor's eaten up her heart?!"

"Karen.. Listen to me. This was a triple A caused by this cancer." Dr. Morton said softly, not yet moving while the suction nurse cleared away their field. "The soaring white cell blood counts, the arrythmias, all of the ectopic electrocardiograms we saw. She was already in trouble from minute one after she awoke this morning. We had no way of knowing how bad it really was, until now."

Overstreet fled the room, shedding her bloody gloves in horror. "She was only two months old."

"Karen?" he tried once more. But then he had to pay attention to their patient.

In the end, there was no saving the baby. Morton finally called her time of death and made the proper arrangements with admin, oncology, and the on-call chaplain for the family.

Twenty minutes later, after two overhead pages went unanswered, Morton realized that Karen Overstreet was no longer in the building.

A fire communications officer jogged up to where Captain Craig Brice was standing by the incident command table. "Personal phone call for you, sir." the lieutenant reported.

"Who is it?" Craig wondered.

"It's a doctor, from Rampart, direct." he replied.

"I'd better answer that. It might be related to this canyon fire we're on." Brice said, his eyebrows going up. "Lead the way."

He hand signalled his supporting Battalion Chief, Hank Stanley. "On-the-phone-for-two." he gestured to the nearby hillside where he and his fellow chiefs were gathering.

Stanley got on the HT between them. ##10-4, Engine 51. It's okay. Go on ahead. We're still setting up shop over here.##

Together, Brice and the comm hurried into the talk tent parked next to a line of telephone poles that they had tapped into for land lines. The young lieutenant pointed to one of the white phone receivers that was flashing on hold on a table.

Brice picked it up. "This is Captain Craig Brice, L.A. County Fire Department Station 51."

The voice on the other end took him by surprise. It wasn't his girlfriend after all. It was her boss. ##Hello, Brice. It's Dr. Morton. I'm not calling on business. This is personal, pertaining to you. Can I talk freely? I know you're on scene.##

"Yes. I'm listening." Craig answered after a short glance around the bustling tent.

##It's about Karen Overstreet. I heard you two were together.##

"We are."

##Okay, then I'm barking up the right tree. I'm a bit concerned about her right now because I think a case really got to her today."

Craig nodded to himself. "She's been under a bit of pressure to do really well. She admires you in particular, Doctor Morton. What was the situation?"

##A baby. We lost her after cracking into her chest to handle a double pneumothorax. It was especially bad because the baby died while Karen and I were operating on her.##

"A child call's rough any way you slice it. Especially if that's what you were doing." Craig grimaced, sympathizing. "I get upset, too, even as a ten year paramedic, when kids die in my arms. I can't imagine what it must be like being a new doctor like Karen is. You guys have loads more responsibility to carry on your shoulders than I do. Way more than just a fire captain's."

##No, no, Craig, you don't understand. Hers is probably more than a little private locker room destroying grief tantrum. She left work rather suddenly. She didn't tell her receptionist where she was going. She's not answering at home, and security reports that her car's still parked here at Rampart.## Morton shared. ##I'm just being a good friend here. Something's definitely not right about how she reacted today.##

Brice's stomach sank into his boots. All of the memories came flooding back. "I... know what happened, Dr. Morton. You see, we... lost a pregnancy a few months ago. It was a pretty straight forward miscarriage. I ...probably handled it better emotionally than she did because of my Asperger's. I just can't feel things as deeply as regular folks do."

##Your traits make you focused, Craig. A bit OCD at times, but you're manageable. It's part of what makes you such a good paramedic. Now I understand. If Karen's still grieving the loss of your child so strongly...##

"...then this might be a crisis situation going on." Brice admitted. "She's rather sensitive.  
It's... why I fell in love with her. Thank you for calling, Dr. Morton. I'll handle it."

##Anytime. I consider Karen as being part of my immediate family, despite us being just coworkers.## the African American physician said. ##Find her fast.##

"I will." Brice promised.

Photo: Karen Overstreet losing her cool.

Photo: Dr. Morton wearing a surgical mask.

Photo: A tiny baby on an oxygen mask.

Photo: Jim Rockford and Sara Butler in a living room.

Photo: Rockford and Sara snuggling by a fireplace.

Photo: A night brush fire in a canyon.

Photo: Dr. Morton on a white phone at Rampart.

Photo: Craig Brice as a captain outside by a house.

***************************************************  
From: Patti Keiper pattik1  
Date: Mon 2/20/2017 2:38 PM Subject: The Wind Up...

Rampart Hospital was gearing up into brush fire stand by mode. Dr. Morton was in a meeting with Dr. Early, Dixie McCall and Dr. Brackett in Kel's office.

"Are we set?" Brackett asked the head E.R. nurse.

Dixie nodded her head. "Fifteen extra staff, plus two additional doctors from Mt. Sinai, and the night chaplain's already checked in. Supplies are doubled. Two general surgeons are on emergency on-call in-house."

"Okay, good. Joe?"

Early added more. "I've learned from the fire department dispatchers that most of the county paramedics are at the fire. L.A. City will be handling anything routine or freeway related by us until they become available again and are back in service locally."

"How long might that be? I like our own paramedics far better." Brackett said, being brutally honest.

It only made the others smile with amusement at that bias assessment.  
Everybody knew the state exams now cranked out equally proficient EMS providers no matter which originating agency sent some, to train.

"No one's provided an answer to that yet." chipped in Dr. Morton.  
"The Santa Anas are picking up this weekend and according to the news, it's whipped up a burn the size of an entire canyon around a dam."

Kel frowned, a cheek muscle twitching. "And we already know about one casualty today."

Mike Morton inwardly startled, even though his face on the outside remained passive. He had not told the others about Karen's break down over their lost infant aged patient. He was planning on giving her some time to come back to work on her own before anyone in administration found out that he had actually been covering for her cases all evening.

But it wasn't about Karen Overstreet. Kel Brackett spoke about the police finding a dead body near a gas can in a house destroyed by a suspected pair of arsonists. Only one of them remained at large in the fire area based on tracker dog activity.

McCall's expression hardened. "At least one of them had the common decency to pay the ultimate price for destroying all that land. Isn't that near Johnny's place?"

"His is still safe and upwind. It's one canyon over to the east." Joe Early shared.

"That's a relief." Dixie sighed. "This still can't be fun for him watching the fire spread out of control."

Early shrugged. "No different than the rainy season when the secondary sluice way is utilized to keep that dam and reservoir from overflowing."

"I guess. Now you see why I rent an apartment. There's less worrying involved." McCall said with exasperation.

The other three doctors laughed at their resident mother hen. Early chortled. "Except for the high cost of living in California."

Kel looked up from his notes. "Before we get started on our emergency shifts, is there anything else we haven't covered?"

Morton kept his own counsel despite the urge to mention Overstreet's faux pas.

"Okay, we're done. Let's hope this night's business is short and sweet." Brackett concluded, wrapping up.

Mike nodded in agreement and then left for the E.R. floor with Joe and Dixie leading the way. He remained lost in thought as he sat down at the ready desk.

Jim Rockford spun the steering wheel sharply to the left and right around poles as he and Sara Butler escaped the neighborhood by following along the fire break underneath the canyon's power lines. The air was thick with heavy smoke in the darkness. But seeing wasn't a problem. Small fires were erupting in the scrub around them as they sped by. The ride was very bumpy.

Butler cried out as her shoulder impacted the side window once again when the front end went over a rock.

"Sorry.." Rockford said again for the tenth time. "Didn't see that one in time."

"Quit apologizing. Aren't we fleeing for our lives here?" she joked tensely, gripping the dashboard of Rockford's gold Firebird tightly.

"Not yet." said Jim, eyeing up the huge fire behind them in the rear view mirror.  
"So far, the wind's being our best friend. Here's the bottom of the hill. Do I go right? Or left?"

Sara hesitated, pulling her hair back around her ears, coughing. "I don't know.  
I think town is that way!" she said, pointing to the left. "I've never been down in the canyon like this before. Everything looks so different."

Jim hung an immediate left onto a gravel road. "This is heading back into the main fire, I think." he said, driving fast.

"Yes, but we can meet up with a fire truck or something, can't we? They never go in unless there's a way out first." Sara reasoned, still frightened at the wildfire spitting embers around the car. "They'll tell us how."

"Now that's what I call using your noggin. We'll do it your way." Jim grinned openly, blinking his smoke stinging eyes gamely. "Keep your eyes peeled for flashing lights!"

The car lurched as Jim avoided burning debris landing on the road in front of them.

Just as suddenly, they intersected with the main drag in town along a row of closed business shops. "Whoa, we're here!" Jim shouted spinning the car to a screeching, lengthwise halt in front of an electronics store full of active on-the-air TVs in the front windows. Every one of them was displaying a live news report of the brush fire bearing down on the town from the lower canyon next to them.

## ARSONIST AT LARGE. SHOTS FIRED AT SITE OF ...CANYON BLAZE. ONE DEAD. ## the headlines declared in bold white print.

Frozen at the sight, Jim and Sara read the scrolling text at the bottom of all of the broadcasts. "Shots fired? What?" he asked, swivelling his head around.

"Is that why there's no one fire department here?" Butler wondered.

A loud pop rang out and a hole opened up in the front windshield between them.

"Get down!" Rockford ordered, pushing Sara's head lower than the windows as his foot slammed down on the accelerator pedal. The Firebird shot high columns of tire smoke as it jolted into high speed and away from the shop.  
He flicked off their car headlights to further confound targeting. "Someone's shooting at us!"

Simultaneously, Jim reached around Sara, and pulled a gun out of his glove compartment over her lap right in front of her already wide open, terrified eyes.

"You've got a-?!"

"For instant protection against crackpots like this? Yes! I'm a private eye who's licensed to kill in self defense at the drop of a hat." he rattled off in irritation as he continued to drive in violent evasive zig zags down the main drag. "And I really don't appreciate it being my hat getting shot off first!" he winced, keeping low as he drove, holding his revolver muzzle up in the air with the safety still on.

A huge glinting object suddenly roared up from the canyon on their left and immediately swerved into their path right in front of their bumper. Rockford laid on the brakes and narrowly avoided hitting two blood streaked horses hitched to an upside down and dragging antique red and chrome colored, steam powered fire engine bouncing violently behind their panicked hooves.

"Oh, Jim!" Sara cried out in horror.

"Has the world gone entirely ape sh*t crazy today?!" Jim snapped, getting angry at the sight. His keen eyes didn't miss the bullet hole wound gushing blood out of the black horse's mangled ear. "Now who'd shoot a h-? Not going to stick around to figure that one out. We're getting under cover! Real thick!" he promised. "Here, hold this." he said, thrusting the gun into Sara's shaky hands. "Keep the muzzle pointed at the roof!" He jerked their car in the direction the horses had come from and their tires sank immediately into a wide open, fire free, dirt lane leading up and entirely out of the burning canyon. "Ah, Perfect! A way out.."

Sara's cool eventually came back as the sight of flames receded into the distance as their elevation got higher and higher. Her eyes never left the tip of the revolver as she locked her fingers around it to keep it steady and aimed away from their heads. "Tell me the safety's on.. I hate guns!"" she gasped.

"Oh.. I'm so sorry, Sara. Heh. Yes it is. You can relax a bit more. No sniper tech known to mankind can see us now. This whole mountain's got us cloaked in pitch blackness."

Butler almost choked, thinking back to the moment the bullet sang past her ear. "That was the arsonist!"

"You saw the ticker memo on the news. Same as I did. Most likely, it sure as hell was. Lousy luck we're having on our date so far." Jim puffed, rolling down their windows so fresh air could clear away some of the smoke from the inside of the car. He finally slowed their speed to cut down on their vehicle noises and popping rocks as they drove over the gravel road.

"I can use a little bit less of the death part in this life or death adventure, Jim." she fervently wished.

"Me, too. Working on it." he promised, eyeing up the treeline all around them and an approaching barn near a turn just ahead of them.

Rockford squinted, studying the view forward carefully out through the bullet hole cracked windshield. "Uh, oh." he grunted, not daring to swipe dripping sweat out of his eyes. A darker form on the road under the open sky backlit by the distant blaze nagged at their night vision. Rockford creeped to a halt and turned off the ignition about fifty feet away.

Sara gaped. "Is that a body?"

"Looks like one to me. A man." Rockford said, "I'm going to go out there. Poor bloke might still be alive. Not going to just drive away. You know how to shoot at all?"

"A little. A rifle of my grandpa's. Once. When I was eight." she trickled self consciously.

"Good enough. It's yours. Cocks into active just the same as that rifle memory of yours. Do it now and guard me while I check for a pulse. Shoot the guy first and ask questions later if he makes any kind of a move on me."

"Boy aren't you the trusting soul." Sara grinned, fear making her giggly.

"I've seen ruses before. If you want total honesty, I did time once, Sara."

"So did I, so we're even, Mr. Rockford." Butler fired back. Then she aimed her gun at the figure on the ground. "I'm ready when you are."

Battalion Chief Stanley pulled up at the Command Post set up on the upwind ridge overlooking the active fire zone below. He parked his red Battalion Chief's car at the corner of an intersection of park roads so he'd have the option of two escape routes should the wind turn on the fire companies responding to the arsonist's blaze. It was true canyon dam country. Tall torrey pines and rhododendron thickets, surrounded the hill ringed reservoir. And those were providing the fuel to feed a blazing inferno to red hot intensity.

Hank eyed up the conflagration which was beginning to dance with red devils and crown fires.  
His practiced eye noticed a telltale glint of magnifying light refraction in the climbing flames.  
His heightened attention perked up even tighter. ::There's no oxygen down there to breathe.:: he realized with certainty. He put out an advisement to the teams that would be working under him from Stations 10, 8, 29, and 51. ::Brush Crew Team Beta, this is Battalion Five. Watch your flanking approach and keep wearing your air bottles. That leading edge is under vacuum conditions. When fanning spray or cutting a line, keep your distance to a minimum of one hundred yards." he ordered. "I want everybody on twenty minute rotations. Six in the fire,  
fourteen minutes rotated out to rehab for a condition check with DeSoto and a fresh bottle change."

Stanley nodded when he heard his four companies affirm their acknowledging replies. To live up to his own order, he dragged out a SCBA set and set the air bottle standing up right on the hood of his car while he donned its mask. He began to read the fire's smoke. Hank saw that its base was a sooty muted gray and tan. ::Burning minerals in the soil and scorching dry grasses. It's gonna throw up a spark plume any minute now and start spreading even farther up the downwind canyon incline.:: Stanley shouted.  
"Engine 9, Engine 8! Attack the center pocket of flames with a fanning spray. Don't let those embers rise any higher!"

Battalion Five saw those twelve men coordinate and create a half circle arc bow of water between their two ladder bucket nozzles and push it forward as they moved down the road towards the brightest fire.

In triage, Roy DeSoto looked at his watch. ::It's almost nine p.m. I wonder where Stoker and Gage are. It can't take this long to exercise a pair of horses. They left from the station four hours ago.::

The little nagging voice inside of his head sank down about two feet to the pit of his stomach and began to chew.

Photo: A Battalion Chief car driving by flames.

Photo: A car melted by fire heat, sitting on a road.

Photo: Jim Rockford and Sara Butler outside, looking scared, holding hands.

Photo: Rockford's 1979 gold Firebird speeding.

Photo: Unconscious Johnny Gage.

Photo: Rockford sitting in his car looking unhappy at night.

From: Patti Keiper pattik1  
Date: Tue 4/18/2017 11:58 AM Subject: Fire and Blood

Craig Brice's mind wasn't entirely on his job at the command post. Not since Dr. Morton's news that Karen had fled the hospital following the death of a baby under their care. ::Why did she do that? She's a good doctor..She-...:: Craig choked off the thought abruptly as he remembered a painful month that they had shared earlier in the spring. ::... she would have made a good mother.:: The loss of their two month old pregnancy had almost torn them apart. Both he and Karen dove into their careers and work with a passion following the experience to heal their unexpectedly very painful grief. It had worked for Craig. Today shredded his veneer of control to learn that Karen was sinking emotionally a possible point of crisis. On an impulse, he moved over to the communications table perched in the open air on the hillside overlooking the brush fire, and called home.

But there came no answer. Brice let the phone ring and ring on to no avail. Very soon, for the first time ever, he began to panic.

Chet Kelly ran up to his new captain, from Engine 51. "Cap," he hailed Brice, "Marco and I have topped off on everything, the water tank, our air bottles. We've got six extra oxygen cylinders, and a dozen burn packs from Supply. Also, uh... It's eight o'clock and there's still no sign of Mike or Johnny. Don't know what's going on there. They told us they'd be done exercising and feeding those fire horses of Rocky's by six. Has any one heard from them yet?" he gestured to the land line phone and cord Brice still had in his hand, hopefully.

Craig snapped out of his deeply hidden frantic worry for Karen and hung up the receiver he had been holding in a death grip. "Sorry, Mr. Kelly. This call... uh...wasn't to them. Mr. Stoker and Mr. Gage are two hours overdue?"

"Nobody's seen a hide nor hair of them at Accountability, and I'm sure they heard the same orders we did on when to show up for this fire assignment over the radio." he replied.

"Okay, thanks. Why don't you and Mr. Lopez go help Eight's stock up while we wait? I'll go put out a page for our two through L. HT to find out what the hold up is."

Chet smiled in amusement. "Never thought I'd ever see the day where two of ours were tardy for anything brush fire."

Brice offered up a neutral wave at Kelly as the Irish fireman left to go collect Marco to bring him up to speed on their new orders. As soon as his men were out of sight, Craig got on the radio over the Battalions' on private band. "Engine 51 to Battalion.." ::Damn! What's Henry Stanley's new chief's number again?:: His glance down at his own fretting fingers answered his question. "Five.." he added, letting go of the push to talk button "... like fingers on a hand." he murmured, finally remembering.

Chief Stanley replied promptly. Craig Brice quickly began to tell him his new fear, out of love for Karen.

##Stop right there. See me in person? I'm just down the road.## Stanley said, offering him the option of more privacy.

Brice hurried over to a cruising red battalion car he could see coming in his direction that briefly flashed its top light.

Craig only had to talk for a few seconds as they met and talked over the roof of the car.. Hank got to the root of the problem right away. "And you're sure this is an emergency concerning her recent odd behavior?" he asked.

"I,... ah,.. yes." said Brice with a touch of embarrassment. "She was diagnosed with a hormonal imbalance similiar to post partum depression right after our miscarriage. I think she blames herself for losing the baby, even though nothing specific was ever pinpointed directly that might have led to it. She would be answering if she was okay, Mr. Stanley."

"Knowing what I know about Karen's normal routines, I'd have to agree." Hank nodded. "I remember how tenacious she was training with Roy and Johnny a few years ago. And training surgical rounds at Rampart's the same kind of bull-dog-on-a-bone interest route for her. She can't be fine running from those. All right. This is what I'll do. I'll spring Roy free to handle a still alarm to your residence. I'll grab one of Eight's medics to go with him using Squad 51. There's nothing doing in Triage here yet. We might not even get any business at all if this fire stays out of town like it appears that it's doing tonight. DeSoto's got time enough to scuttle over there to do a welfare check and get back to be our triage commander for any brush fire evacs afterwards."

"Thank you, sir." Craig sighed, his voice cracking with worry.

"No problem, Brice. We take care of our own, and that includes our families."

"Speaking of which, this is new. Stoker and Gage still haven't reported in. They went to care for some horses on behalf of a previous victim of ours. Their HT band registers as open and receiving but L.A. says there hasn't been any contact made since I ordered status check hails to their radio at 2009."

"That's odd." Hank frowned.

"Tell me about it. Should we take it to the next level and put out a general search alert to the working crews? That farm is near the fire hot zone." Brice said.

"It never hurts to cover the bases. Yes." Exasperated, Hank yanked off his white helmet and ran fingers through his sweaty hair, going full out casual talk mode. "Geez.. What is going on with people, Brice? Is it Missing Persons night all of the sudden?"

Craig's dead pan expression didn't change. "We can fix that."

Stanley coughed in frustration. He sighed, returning the weight of his command helmet to his head. He tightened his dangling chin strap."We sure can. Firefighters on a scene are better than bird dogs. Get it done from your end and I will from mine."  
"I will, chief."

"What have we got?" Edward Stone asked DeSoto as he got into Squad 51 at the stationing area just outside of the brush fire's canyon.

"It's for family." Roy shared, passing over the address to Brice's bungalow apartment to him as he buckled up in Johnny's seat. "Welfare check on one of our own. Remember Karen Overstreet?"

"Uh huh. I was surprised when I got this squad call. Where's Johnny?" Ed asked as he got into the cab and buckled up.

"Good question. I think just about everybody wants to know that answer just as bad as I do.  
And Stoker was with him." Roy said in disbelief, shifting into gear with lights on but no sirens.

"Doing what?"

"Horsing around. Literally. I mean how can you screw that up? They were just going to feed and exercise two retired fire horses for an hour or two." Roy's worry was plain.

"Is that place near the fire?" Stone wondered.

The expression on Roy's face said it all.

"Look. It's probably no big deal, Roy." Stone suggested. "If a bit of flames crossed the road no trained fire horse will cross it. They probably had to find another road to rein drive down that just took a while."

"Yeah? Well why aren't they answering the radio? Those ignored call sign hails have been ongoing for the last hour." DeSoto snapped.

##L.A. to Station 51 Gage and Stoker. How do you read?## prompted the intercom speaker.

"See?" the blond paramedic said, whipping up the squad's mic receiver head in frustration before hanging it back up again.

"Don't drive angry." Stone said as DeSoto swerved to avoid a fallen cliff boulder on the dirt road they were traveling to get to the freeway.

"I'm not a-! I'm... well, I'm getting just a little worried here. Yeah, that's the word. Tardy is Johnny's middle name some shifts, but Stoker? He's always far earlier than even the worm every morning."

"It's not morning." Stone grinned.

"No, but it is a fire call. A big one. One that's too big to be late for. And you and I both know that neither one of them would miss this in a million years."

"You've got a good excuse for chewing your nails, Roy." Stone said soberly.

"Thank you." Roy huffed with exasperation.

Ed lifted his eyebrows and he asked seriously. "Want me to drive?"

They had arrived. Stone got out of the driver's seat after neatly parking in front of Craig Brice's residence property. "Which bungalow?"

"Number Three. To the left." DeSoto responded, grabbing all of their gear.

"Do we need P.D. if the door's locked?" Stone said, snatching up the defib case, drug box, and an E and J resuscitator.

"Just break it down with a ram. We already have Brice's blessing." Roy replied, shifting his radio's strap to his wrist so he could carry more equipment.

"What's our medical history?" Stone asked as they hurried for the front door.

"Recent miscarriage. And a pretty intense emotional upset trigger this afternoon according to Dr. Morton."

"A psych crisis... Is she at all suicidal?" Ed asked.

"I don't know, Ed. You know her about as well as I do. I only remember having a heart to heart talk with her once at the station. As I recall, she seemed fairly sensitive for the work." Roy replied.

"But she was good."

"After that first day. Yes. Still is, according to Morton."

"All right." Stone said, squaring his shoulders to catch up to DeSoto. "I have to ask this. Are there any weapons in the house?"

Roy just glared. "Brice hates guns. The answer's no."

"Wigging out is wigging out, Roy. Just saying."

DeSoto paused long enough on the way, to look inside the garage. "There's a car in there and a white lab coat on the floor. She's home."

"Yeah? Where to first then?"

"Car's isn't running. So not in there." DeSoto replied grimly. "I don't know.. Bathroom? Bedroom? Would you even think of a specific place after you just snapped?"

"Let's check both places. Then how about everywhere else on property? They got a pool?"

Roy didn't even answer that one out loud. He just nodded. Pools were practically required features when it came to living anywhere other than up off of the ground in a high rise in California.

\- Jim Rockford set his spare gun down on the ground and turned its muzzle point away from Johnny's face before he stepped a shoe down on top of it to keep it safely pinned from any flailing limbs. "Hey!" he shouted,  
gently slapping Gage on a cheek to try and rouse him. His other hand, placed on his dusty chest, felt fast breathing. "Buddy? Can you hear me?"

"Is he awake?" asked Sara.

"No, he's out like a light. But it doesn't appear like there are any bullet holes in him." Rockford said back.  
"Remember those bloody horses and that antique steam engine? Gotta be his. But I'm not waiting around to provide any more targets." The detective waved at her. "Come out here and get my gun. I'm putting him in the car."

"What about possible broken bones?"

"That fire'll do things far worse if we leave him to go for help. We do know part of his story. He's a firefighter."

"How do you know that?" Sara said, hurrying over in the dark to retrieve Jim's revolver from the road.

"By his badge." Rockford said. "It's still on his shirt and that spells it out literally. Name's Gage. He's apparently a paramedic, too, according to this patch."

Jim had opened the rear door of the Firebird and was about to heft Gage inside when a male voice burst out of the bushes. ##HT 51 Gage or Stoker, do you read L.A. on your assignment channel?##

"Geez!" Jim startled, dumping Johnny unceremoniously face down in the back seat and ducking. "What was-  
Oh, a radio.. Can you find it?"

"Just did." Butler said, holding it up. "Let's get some help coming."

"First, let's get off this ridge. We're still too close to town. We have no way of knowing if that lunatic who shot at us there is still close by or not. Jump in back and see what you can do for him while you make that call. We're leaving." Rockford ordered.

"That dispatcher called out two names. What if this guy's partner was with him? They work in pairs. He's probably hurt, too, if they were both driving that-"

"I don't see anybody else lying around, Sara, do you? And no, we're not going to look. It's too dangerous."  
Jim told her, shooing her in after Johnny, and slamming the rear door shut. "Just tell them we left a lit flashlight on the road where we found the first guy." He said, throwing theirs onto the ground near the bloody patch of mud the cuts on Johnny's face had created in the dirt. "We took a very high risk when we stopped for him.  
We're still not out of bullet range if that was a rifle shot which shattered my windshield. The shooter might have a scope and bee lined, watching us right now..,"

"All right, already. You proved your point, Jim. Avoid the bumps if you can, at the very least." Butler shared. "His blood pressure will thank you."

"It's going down?" Rockford paled, stepping a little harder on the gas as they accelerated back onto the road.

"Oh, yeah. He's pretty chilled." Butler said, keeping two fingers on the pulse point in Johnny's neck.

"I can fix that." the detective said, turning the heater to roaring. The Firebird sped along the gravel road as fast as Jim dared to take it. "Roll down a few windows, hon. We'll let this fire cook all three of us for a little while."

"Where are we headed?" Sara shouted over the roar of the wind. "Gage seems to be breathing okay on his own."

"Towards those flashing red lights on the ridge. Emergency personnel seem to be gathering there. I'm driving straight up the hill as the crow flies so we can get out of this smoke." Rockford replied.  
"They'll know what to do with this hurt fella faster than we can."

"I'll call them right now on the radio." Sara answered. "Line of sight transmitting should get through."

"That's my girl, smart as anything." Jim celebrated, eyeing her up in the rear view mirror.

Photo: Jim and Sara, ducking on a hillside.

Photo: Jim looking behind and out the window of his Firebird.

Photo: Roy DeSoto looking worried by a rescue squad at night.

Photo: Johnny Gage, lying on his back, unconscious, at night.

Photo: Captain Stone by Squad 51.

Photo: Roy DeSoto running with medical gear.

Photo: Squad 51 rushing to a still alarm.

Photo: Karen Overstreet looking distressed.

Photo: A brush fire threatens a highway overpass.

**************************************************  
From: Patti Keiper pattik1  
Date: Sun 4/30/2017 7:33 PM Subject: Search and Rescue

In town, Station 110 was setting up shop in the parking lot of an emergency closed grocery store. Their job was to keep brush fire embers floating down from the canyon above town from igniting the roof tops of buildings.

Already, their tillerman was erecting their aerial snorkle. A younger fireman on their crew noticed the bullet holes in the windows. "Looters this fast? We should report this." he said to his hydrant partner.

"They already know." said an older, grizzled blond haired long time firefighter. He pointed out Vince Howard talking driver's window of a marked black and white squad, to driver's window with a suit jacketed lieutenant in an unmarked green Chevy sedan car parked in the shadows, away from the sputtering street light. "I also see a S.W.A.T. team casing in the alley way."

"Can we trust them to keep us safe?" the rookie asked, not stopping with laying fresh hose on the ground before their water source valve on a fire hydrant.

"With our very lives, son. They've got a very different kind of fire to put out tonight. The one which caused all of this." he gestured to the wildfire lipping out over the ridge. "Someone's murdering hate."

Howard leaned out his car window only slightly, keeping his helmet low over his eyes for protection. "Looks like he's been here." he said to Lieutenant Dennis Becker of the L.A.P.D. "Those windows have been shot out, and not so long ago. Those shards on the ground aren't wet with dew yet."

"He's not in the area. Or the dogs would have been worked up on a hot scent by now." replied Becker. His nonchalance was full of surety.

Howard took in a deep breath and relaxed his guard a few notches.

"Amazing what they can still do in all of this fire smoke." said Vince. His eye fell on something on the ground. "Uh, oh. Looks like our arsonist winged somebody." He got out of his car and drew out his flashlight. "That's fresh blood." he said, crouching on the pavement. "And a lot of it."

Becker joined him, with his own radio in hand. "Ooo. That's far too much to not have a body lying around here." he said with alarm.

##Watch out!## cried an officer on their radio band from the S.W.A.T. team. ##Spooked horses!##

A frothed and blowing Neb and Sally burst around the corner of the alleyway, dragging what little was left of the steam fire engine behind them, throwing sparks. The pull axle pole bounced and twisted violently between them. Lieutenant Becker and Vince Howard threw themselves behind their cars as the horses staggered by, still crazed by the scent of the gory gush pouring out Neb's bullet amputated ear stump.

The startled officers quickly regained their composure. "What kind of sick chump shoots at horses?" Becker retorted.

Vince replied, filing away the evidence in his mind. "Someone pretty lousy at hitting human targets hopefully."

They climbed to their feet and watched the half block distant firefighters from Station 110 surround and catch the reins of the frightened fire horses who had run to the only people they knew they could trust, for help.

Neb, the black, fell to his knees briefly before a quickly redirected fire hose of fanning spray revived him enough to regain his shaky footing. "Keep them on their feet! Don't let them lie down!" the captain shouted. "They're too hot."

Another firefighter leaped onto the horse's head to tie off the old stallion's spurting wound with a rag. They decided to try and blind fold both of the horses to calm them and soon had them freed from their tangle of broken traces.

It was painful hearing the totally spent, agonized blowing gasps, rocketing in and out of both of the fire horses' nostrils. Their eyes were rolling, showing their whites as they fought almost complete exhaustion from their long run. The old timer firefighter at Neb's head started calming him down. "Easy, boy. I know it hurts. We'll have a vet and a quiet treatment trailer with cold water to drink here before you know it." The horrible, steaming hemorrhage from Neb's ear base, finally stopped with a few deftly tied knots of cloth under his fingers.

"What happened to that ear?" the rookie firefighter asked, keeping up his cooling spray of water over the horses' trembling whithers, legs and heads to put out fire embers that he could see that were sticking to their coats and singeing hair.

Vince answered, shouting across the street. "He was shot! But we're all safe here. The shooter's moved to a new hiding place because of the fire. The dog trail's cold."

110's captain got out his hand held the radio. "This old rig and team's gotta be the one Gage and Stoker's alert bulletin said that they were working with this afternoon. I'll let the I.C. know they're no longer with them."

"What's this about missing men?" Becker wanted to know, jogging up to the group of firefighters. Vince pulled his squad car around, joining him.

The rookie replied. "Two firemen out of Station 51's, a paramedic and their engineer. The word out, is that they went to care for these two before being deployed to our fire. But they never made it back to Check In. Half of County's looking for them."

Dennis Becker got mad. "Why weren't we informed?!"

"I don't know. Too much going on, too fast?" he replied, with a worried shrug.

"Sloppy." Vince growled. "Especially with a gunman at large. You'd better give us that address for this hitch team. We'll go check it out and the route these horses took, running away from the shooter. It can't be good news if Johnny and Mike are no shows."

"I'll get it." promised the fire captain.

Sara Butler wrapped the strap of the HT radio around her wrist and began.

"Mayday, mayday, mayday. This is a civilian on a firefighter paramedic's radio.  
He's been hurt. We have him in our car and we're headed up to your position on the ridge. Do you copy?"

A startled reply return transmitted. ##This is Captain Craig Brice. Can you repeat? Give your location as best as you can.##

"We have Johnny Gage. We found him on the dirt road in the canyon below. He's unconscious. We see the flashing lights of five emergency vehicles up hill, two fire engines, a red car, and two smaller trucks."

##That's us. Are you off road?## Brice prompted, grabbing a pair of binoculars from the engine.

"Yes. In a meadow with a cliff to the south and the fire to the north." she said.  
"I and another man are driving straight up to you from the bottom."

##I can't see you yet. Keep your headlights on. I and a few others are coming down to meet you.## Brice promised. ##What's his condition?##

"He's breathing. Minor cuts, no active bleeding. But there's a large bruise on his head like someone would get in a fall."

##Understood, miss...## Craig's mind raced. He whirled to Marco and Chet who had heard the frantic call on the radio and were running back for the engine from Staging. "Grab a stokes! Throw it onto Deluge Nine. It can handle the slope! I'm going with you!"

"Music to my ears.." Chet huffed in relief. "Anything on Stoker?"

"No. One thing at a time." Brice advised. "Let's get Gage packaged and transported before we try for that angle."

Then Brice switched to Battalion's band. "Engine 51 to Battalion Five. Gage has been found. He's being driven to our location by two civilians. He's alive."

Battalion Chief Hank Stanley hesitated only briefly. ##I'll get a Mayfair there, pronto. Sending another paramedic unit to you, to intercept, with a biophone and equipment.##

"10-4, Five." Craig acknowledged.

Eighty yards down the hill, Rockford and Sara met Craig, Marco and Chet in a cloud of dust and fire smoke between their mutual headlight beams.

Kelly aimed a spot light at the windshield of the Firebird to light up its inside compartment.

Jim Rockford threw on his park brake and got out. "Watch yourself! Somebody shot at us and hit the glass." he said, keeping his gun aimed at the sky in the darkness. "Might be following us."

"Mr. Rockford?" Chet called out, rushing from the truck with a trauma box and oxygen supply.

"Yeah... I knew you'd peg me. I sound just like my dad. Hi..." Jim replied, moving quickly out of range of the light so he could cover the others and regain a little night vision. "I got our six, keeping an eye out for our trigger happy jerk." he promised.

Brice nodded, keeping low. He ducked into the cover of the shadow the car door made, as Sara opened it to let him inside. "Gage? Can you hear me?"  
he urged, feeling the quality of a carotid pulse at his neck. He was very relieved to feel some breaths happening under an elbow as he swept his hands down Johnny's body, arms, and legs, looking for issues. "Light breathing. Weakish." he shared with his men.

Johnny's face did not change from slack and pale at a sternal rub.

"He's really out, guys. No reaction to pain." he related to a worried Marco and Chet. Brice snatched up an oral airway, anticipated and already the right size, from his shirt pocket and soon, he had it settled between Gage's bloody teeth. "Kelly, aid him. Push high O2. He's respiratory suppressed."

"Why?" Chet demanded, his voice short and fretting as he quickly set up the equipment.

"Hmm... Not from the smoke. It's not thick enough. Hypothermia?" Craig guessed. "We've some brownie points though. I'm not feeling any signs of fractures."

Sara spoke, not moving Johnny's head from her lap. "No bullet holes either.  
I looked. We took a risk moving him."

Chet fired a displeased look at Butler. He couldn't hide it. Kelly controlled his visible anger by trying not to look at Johnny's cold trembling limbs as he began ventilating Johnny on the oxygen.

"We had to." Butler defended. "We were still too close to town where our windshield was shot out."

"That's the truth." Jim said out of the darkness. "We risked our skins getting him."

"Thank you." Brice told them genuinely, still calm and collected and continuing his hands on, head to toe, exam. "You probably saved his life."

"Tell me another one I don't know. We marked where we found your friend with a flashlight left on. Maybe his buddy's still nearby in the grass if he got himself just as banged up. I recommend checking it out later, when it's safe. Move in a S.W.A.T. team first." Rockford said sarcastically, not liking being back lit by the growing fire. "Hurry it up, fellas. We're sitting ducks down here. We need to get to high ground to be 100% sure we're out of this idiot's target range."

"Three minutes, tops." Brice promised, finally closing up Gage's shirt and trousers once he was done with a quick four quadrant abdominal check. "There's no guarding, Mr. Lopez. Gage was lucky. No internal injuries or CNS signs of a closed head injury."

Marco Lopez sighed hugely, and passed over to Sara, a yellow plastic blanket to spread over Johnny. "Miss, use this. We need to get him warm again. I'll get a backboard ready. Then on our count, we'll move him into a stokes stretcher to strap him in."

"Of course." Sara replied. "I-I'll help in any way I can. I ...didn't know that Johnny was so badly hurt." she said, hastening to complete the task.

"He's not." Craig smiled. "He's just a little tired from fighting getting chilled.  
The ground he was lying on was cold even though the surrounding air's brush fire heated."

Chet reported from Johnny's head, where he held a resuscitator mask on manual supporting feed, snugly over his nose and mouth. "He's at ten and shallow now, Cap." he said, punching in another breath on an inspiration.

"That's good enough. Let him pull some." Brice nodded. "Let's see how he does on his own. Mr. Lopez, let's get that C-collar on."

"Why's he still out?" Marco wondered as they carefully applied it together.

"Blow to the head. Scary, but he doesn't test out bad at all. His pupils are equal and reactive." Craig said, checking them with a pen light. "Ice the bump once we get to the ambulance, topside." Brice ordered. "He'll snap out of this after a warm I.V. and some steamed oxygen, I'll just bet."

"Still looks totally messed up. I think he got tossed." Kelly added, shining his flashlight over Gage's bloodstained head and hands.

"You're right. From the seat. Face cuts are full of gravel. All superficial. He'll clean up just fine." Brice promised, finally smiling for everyone's benefit. "From what I'm seeing, he won't even need any stitches. The sooner we get Gage awake and on the way to Rampart, the sooner we can start our own little active S and R for Mr. Stoker. I'm bumping us up into that priority."

"Right on, Cap." Chet said, happy with that future plan of action. "Hot d mn."

"Gracias a Dios!" Lopez grinned in approval.

Two minutes later, Sara and Jim were following the stokes loaded deluge brush truck up the mountain in the gold Firebird to where an eager crowd of firefighters were watching and waiting with an open door Mayfair and a new flood of police vehicles.

Photo: Cap, in a white helmet, in front of a deluge brush fire truck at night.

Photo: Battalion Five (Cap) and Captain Craig Brice (51) in front of a night fire.

Photo: Johnny Gage lying unconscious on the ground with face cuts.

Photo: A brush fire above a canyon at sunset.

Photo: A rushing horse drawn fire engine, one horse ear wounded.

Photo: Rockford, frightened, in a med shot.

Photo: Chet and Marco, worried, treating Gage.

********************************************************  
From: Patti Keiper pattik1  
Date: Sat 5/20/2017 5:18 PM Subject: What's Tricks?  
The smoke was a little less dense up where the night wind could sweep it away. The full moon lit their view.

##Condition?## Battalion Five Hank Stanley's radio barked as soon as the Deluge truck halted and began to unload the wounded paramedic. Even before Brice's feet hit the ground after leaving the rider's cab.

"Stable." Craig answered, keeping his hand on Gage's stokes stretcher while the other firemen carried him to the waiting ambulance. "Not in danger."

##Any sign of Mike Stoker?## The worry in Stanley's voice was barely veiled.

Brice shivered. He could practically feel binoculars boring into the back of his head from where Hank stood on another mountain top.

"Chief, I've two bystanders who have a few ideas and a possible starting point for a search. Request USAR and P.D. to follow up on it." Craig answered.

##Sending them your way in three.## came Hank's fast confirmation.

"I'll let you know the minute the doctor's through with him, sir."

##Appreciate it, Captain. Battalion Five going off Fire Main.##

Johnny was quickly placed inside of the ambulance and was switched out on his oxygen supply.

Brice sighed happily when he saw that the EMTs had anticipated I.V. heating. Two buckets of hot water had been set out by the rider's bench waiting for any M.D. ordered solution bags.

Craig knew the paramedic already inside of the Mayfair, who had been assigned to Gage. "Stan, he's cold. He needed a little lung support, but he's doing fine now. He's got absolutely no intracranial pressure signs. In spite of the way he looks." he said, pointing to the bloody gauze squares plastered all over Johnny's wet face.

"Road rash?" asked the experienced medic from Long Beach.

"Yep. The bystanders who found him, said the horses he was with, tossed him." Brice told him.  
"Thank G*d it was onto a red rock and not an asphalt road. He's a lucky man."

Stan quickly wiped off Johnny's sweat damp chest and patched him in. ""EKG confirms NSR, rapid. Good call. I'll leave now and start his I.V.'s on the way. Brackett's on the line and he's already authorized epi and steam venting. The EMTs can dry him off and get him into the hot pack en route. Anything else?"

"He... might wake up frantic. Mike Stoker is still missing." Brice shared, trying not to think of his own missing girlfriend. ::Karen, why didn't you answer the phone when I called? Now I can't call.:: he thought to himself as he passed over his notes about Gage's vitals and other signs. "Take these."

Stan took them eagerly, and then the doors slammed shut between them. The Mayfair began its rush ride to Rampart. Along the road, firefighters hurried out of the way to make a hole for the ambulance to travel through, then just as quickly, they returned to their brush fire break line work.

Craig Brice was still breathing hard from Gage's rescue and canyon recovery. He leaned over with a hand on a knee and poured a bottle of water over his head. Reseating his helmet, Craig heard the brush fire continue to strengthen and grow on the valley floor far below.

Chet Kelly and Marco Lopez rejoined their captain. "Is he bad?" Chet asked, his face tight.

"No." Brice replied. "Maybe some plastic surgeon's abrasion care to get all of the r-*cough*rocks out." Craig hacked in mid sentence. "Ouch. Go detox on oxygen and I'll do the same." he said, feeling the snot tickling in his chest from the beginnings of smoke inhalation swelling. "The bad smoke's getting thicker. Soon we'll all be in masks up here in spite of the fresh wind."

"Miss?" spoke Marco, a few minutes later, to Sara Butler.

She glanced up at him from where she sat cross legged on the hood of Rockford's car. "What?" she croaked.  
Surprised, she threw a couple of fingers to her throat and tried to clear it.

"Sounds like you've gotten hoarse from the fire. Here, try this." he said, handing out the demand valve resuscitator he had topped off and changed out after its work on Johnny. "Does your friend sound like you? From inhaling a bit too much smoke?" He set the oxygen case down on top of his turnout jacket so it wouldn't scratch the paint.

"No, he doesn't." replied Jim, accepting an armful of water bottles from a passing aide worker making circuits through all of the fire crews on the ridge. He began handing them out to everybody present. "Fortunately, I used to be a chain smoker. Kept me sane while I was serving time. Lungs of iron, son."

Kelly frowned. "I thought you were a private investigator. I'd have never taken you for an ex-" he broke off. "Sorry."

"Ex-con?" Rockford smiled. "Go ahead and say it. Because that's what I was. And before you ask, I didn't kill anybody."

"Nope. He was framed." said a new, muffled, amused male voice behind them. "He didn't start killing people, in self defense cases only, until much later."

Jim whirled. "Angel Martin, as I live and breathe. Did you follow me?! Can't you see there's a fire going on?"

"Yes, you mean the one between you and this sweet new lady?" he winked at Sara and giving a nod of greeting.

"Not that fire. You know the far bigger, big, bad, glowing one eating up the countryside?" Rockford said, throwing his arms up and gesturing behind himself, unsuccessfully trying to keep Angel from making eyes at his new girlfriend.

The young, mid thirties Angel Martin finished kissing the back of Butler's hand in a show of chivalry.  
Angel was dressed in tan with a rain slicker and boots. A prominent press badge was pinned to his chest. The fake pass Rockford eyeballed, looked very convincingly genuine.

"You pick good friends, Jim." winked Sara. Angel Martin's wind wafting cologne scent, just happened to be one of her absolute favorites. ::Hmm. Old Spice.:: she sighed mentally.

"Took a while, I hate to say. He didn't trust me for the longest time." Martin chuckled, teasing Jim.

"With good reason." Rockford huffed, getting jealous.

"More on that later." Angel blushed, still in full admiring eye contact with Sara. But then he turned his attention from Butler, to his bestie. "You still owe me ten bucks, buddy boy. It was due yesterday. Not even H*ll nor high water can keep me from collecting debts owed to me. You ought to know that by now." he laughed. His brown, beady little eyes sparkled in the fire glow. He let go of Sara's fingers and elaborately bowed to the night steaming ground. "A verbal agreement on a loan is a verbal deal in stone."

Jim rolled his eyes, broke out his wallet, and paid the curly haired, shifty eyed, Portugese man.  
"All right, I'm calling Uncle. Here you go, Angel. Every stinkin' dime."

Sara giggled at his reaction and finally dropped the oxygen mask back into its case for the next user. "You gamble?!" she gaped at her P.I. date.

Jim's black eyes flared. "On occasion." he defended.

Chet Kelly and Marco Lopez stayed wall flowers in the background while they self treated on O2.  
The gossip mill was getting even juicier than the wild fire.

"Mr. Martin, why I do declare, are you a bookie?" Sara trickled.

Rockford physically got himself in between Angel and his girl.  
"Nope. Not today he isn't. He's something different than just your very own, ordinary, garden variety street informer, which is how we met. So what are you masquerading yourself off as today, Angel?" Jim asked.

"I'm a reporter, Jimmy Boy. Worked so well, I got a free chopper ride straight into the middle of all this action. Man, what a scene! This is... so invigorating!" Martin said, expansively spreading his arms against the backdrop of the roaring flames trying to rise from the depths of the canyon below them. "With your payback, I can now go out and buy a whole pile of camera film rolls to document Mother Nature at work." he announced grandly at the top of his voice. "I figure I can sell what I snap to National Geographic or something and clean up with a whole month's rent!"

"Good luck with that one. In ten minutes, anyone not a firefighter's getting evacuated back to L.A."  
Rockford shared. "Us, and my Firebird included. It's getting airlifted out as police evidence." he lied.

"Oh, man! Whaaat hhhappened?" Angel gaped, nearly dislocating his neck to get a good glimpse of Rockford's pride and joy.

Jim grabbed Martin by the shoulders and whirled him back around to face the rest of the group again. "Don't look! It's not pretty. A bullet hole right through the windshield and into the leather on a back seat."

"Oh, Jimmy.." Angel wilted. "You love that car." he said, his eyes filling with tears that weren't from the fire smoke.

"She took a bullet for me, Angel. I don't know where I'm going to come up with the money to fix her." he simpered, looking pathetic and sad. "The guy who owes me two hundred for coming up with a name just got carted away in an ambulance."

Martin dug into his pocket and returned Rockford's ten dollar bill. "Here. I don't need it this week. Pay me next week, when you finally get a paying client."

"Aww. Thanks, Angel. This means a lot. It really.." he shot a look at the glaring Sara and quietly stepped on her foot to shut her up. "..does. I won't forget this." and he meant, it, too.

Butler's forehead creased up in confusion at Rockford's candor with what was obviously a swindle.

"We are good friends." Jim said to both of them, at Sara, to prove he wasn't a con, and to Angel because already they owed each other, their very lives. It was a bond which had always cemented their relationship through thick and thin.

::Although I can't see why he's decided to wade into my particular kind of soup today.:: Jim puzzled.  
"Now," Rockford said, putting away his wallet. "There's one man I have to see." The P.I. stepped up to Craig Brice and waited until he was acknowledged. "Uh, excuse me, captain, but, if there's a Lt. Dennis Becker working tonight, he's very good at finding missing people. He used to work in Nam, in the Special Forces. Take my word for it, he's absolutely the best in the business. I suggest you-"

Craig smiled and held up his radio. "He's already on the way. I did my research, through a friendly to us, in the L.A.P.D., Officer Vince Howard. They were linked up and in town working together to find a trail or lead on the arsonist/shooter. I told them about what you did with that flashlight marking the spot where you found our firefighter, five minutes ago."

"You work fast." Rockford told him, impressed.

"He sure does." Chet groused. "He always gets what he wants once he puts his mind to it. Uh, sir.."  
he amended when Brice raised a captain's eyebrow at him. "He looks new to this, but he's definitely not."

Lopez grumbled under his breath, "He's probably chewed on all the procedure manuals since birth."

Brice glanced over while monitoring radio chatter.. "Did you say something? I missed it." he asked.

Marco blushed, but it didn't show in the glow of the fire. "Uh, I said, it looks like the fire's increasing in girth."

"You're right." Craig said, nodding. "We've got a long fight ahead of us before it's done."

Chet leaned into Marco, whispering. "I hope Stoker's is an non-issue. I wonder what happened to him."

"Me, too." said Lopez.

Nearby, Jim Rockford started coughing hard.

"Chain smoker, huh?" Sara smirked, pushing him down onto a car bumper so the firefighters could treat him with their oxygen clean out trick.

"Okay. You pegged me. It was like maybe, ... twenty years ago." Jim wheezed. "I'm.. *hack!* .. fine." he choked.

"For an old man. Quit acting macho and tough. I'm already yours." she said, smacking him on the arm. "Now let the nice firefighters fix your lungs. It won't take long."

"Five minutes, tops." promised Chet, getting the mask ready.

Jim Rockford had the grace to grin humbly at his feet.

Photo: A night wildfire with a chopper performing a water drop.

Photo: A close up of a Mayfair bumper.

Photo: Lt. Dennis Becker and some EMTs.

Photo: A close up of Sara Butler, smiling.

Photo: Angel Martin, looking perturbed.

Photo: Angel and Rockford arguing from two doors of the gold Firebird at each other.

Photo: Johnny Gage looking battered, on oxygen, with an I.V.

Photo: A fire crossing a road at night.

**************************************************  
From: Patti Keiper pattik1  
Date: Sat 5/27/2017 7:18 PM Subject: Teeth

Dennis Becker looked at Vince Howard as a volunteer crew loaded up the fire horses into a vet's van. "Where are they headed?"

"Same place we're going. To their barnyard. Believe it or not, they're the last ones to have seen Mike Stoker. We're going to poke around property for signs of him. Are you up to doing a little searching?"

"With the city closed down, I've nothing pressing." Dennis shrugged. "I'll ride in with you. We don't get the fire department channels in our cars."

"Hop in." Howard said, opening the passenger door of his black and white squad car. "Put this on. Doesn't matter tonight if people know you're an undercover officer. There's too much fire in the area."

"In more ways than one. Thanks for the ballistics vest. I have a bad feeling we're going to need it." Lt. Becker sighed.

The two officers elected to follow the assigned U.S.A.R. unit to the address they had received from L.A. to play it safe. Flames from the canyon fire that the gun happy arsonist had started, was beginning to lick the edges of brush alongside the outer fences of the distant downtown neighborhoods.

"Ah, d mn. I hate it when Mother Nature gets in the way of an investigation." Dennis mumbled. "Wildfires don't leave much left behind."

Jim Rockford pulled up alongside a city pay phone next to a gas station that was still in a safe zone marked by the fire department.

"What are you doing, Jimmy?" Martin asked from the back seat. "I've still got a ton of pictures to take of the wildfire."

"Aw, Angel, I'm not here to play chauffeur to your photography session. We were ordered to evacuate." the P.I. moaned tiredly. "Sorry your plans got smoked, but we've had a really rough night. All I wanna do is go home, with one detour." he said, getting out of the car and deftly taking up his car keys so they were out of reach of Martin.

"Who are you going to go call?" Sara asked.

"My Dad. He's being discharged in a few minutes from the hospital and I'm his ride home. It's morning already, see?" he pointed to the pale copper beginning to stain the east horizon.

Angel's eyes bugged out, "Oh my G*d. Are you sure that isn't another branch of the fire flanking us?"

"Yes, Angel, I'm sure. That direction's away from the ocean and towards the sunrise. Check your compass." Rockford said sarcastically. Under his breath, he muttered. "Too bad your common sense's compass doesn't work so well."

"What?"

"Nothing. Did you find out your answer? Maybe you'll settle down a little afterwards." Jim said, running a few fingers through his sweaty and fire smoke soot dusted hair.

Reflexively, the hyper Portuguese man did so, from a big, fat old style Navy compass from the inside of his shirt pocket. "Hey, that glow is east."

"And downwind. Fire doesn't suddenly appear as a small, steady glowing ball and start rising straight up into the sky." Jim shared. "Excuse me while I make a phone call."

"Here's a dime, Jim." Sara said, handing him one from her blue jean's pocket.

"Thanks, doll." Rockford winked at Sara. Then he picked up the phone receiver on the outdoors wall shelf unit and dialed."Hi, Dad. How are you feeling?"

**Like the china shop the bull ran through. How long are ya going to be? That Dixie gal wheeled me down to the main lobby over an hour ago!**

"Sorry, Dad. Ran into a few delays." Rockford admitted.

**Do you mean to tell me you're on another date?**

"Shh! She'll hear you. Yes, we were, but that was hours ago. We ran into a few issues on the way to Rampart."

**Oh, yeah, like what? I'm freezing my butt off in these new fangled P.J.s. It's not fun at all waiting like this.**

"Try a fire and a sniper. My car got wrecked by a bullet."

The kindly old white haired Rocky crossed his legs in the waiting chair next to the nurses desk. He immediately uncrossed them when an ugly old lady sitting across from him suddenly started smiling and staring up his patient gown. **Serves you right, Jim! I told you to buy car insurance. But did you listen? No..** Then he mumbled in a softer tone. **Glad you're not hurt, sonny.**

"I'm always careful." Jim replied.

**Not always. Sometimes the bad guys do nail ya. Look at me. I got hurt and there were no bad guys in the equation at all! Now where's the one who shot at you? Are you and whoever's in your company going to go after him after you abandon me at the trailer?**

Jim's sighed and studied the cement cracks glowing in the water the fire department had left on the sidewalk. It took a lot to not blow up at his father's brutally glib comments.

From the car, Angel perked up as he and Sara watched Jim try to hide his conversation in vain. "Oh. I know that look of his, Sara. We're going hunting! Just you, Jim and I."

Sara shook her head, wiping off some of Johnny's blood from her fingers with a water bottle's flow and a rag she found in the glove compartment. "What makes you think we're going to go heading back straight into danger?"

Angel Martin met her gaze seriously.  
"Because I know his father, Rocky, Sweetcakes. It's a father/son honor thing going on between them right now over there." Martin told her. "You see, Rockford's a pushover when it comes to always doing what his old man wants. It's a guilt trip he can't possibly ignore. It's all because his Dad was bad once, and he straightened up and began to fly right. Decades ago. And Jim knows that he can't ever live up to that. Not in a million years."

"Do you mean my new boyfriend's still acts like a criminal?"

"Only in self defense. His dander gets up thoroughly whenever somebody tries to kill him. I've seen this before. He's exactly like his old man." he said, gesturing at the range of dark expressions they could see running through different moods on the P.I.'s face. "It's a natural reaction he gets whenever the nasty folks find out that they're being targeted by him, in his line of work." Martin said.

"But this particular bad guy doesn't even know us. He's an arsonist. We just happened to have been at the wrong place at the wrong time last night."

"Oh, that baddie knows you all right. You're both witnesses to his whereabouts,  
darlin'. That's good enough. But you don't worry. Jim'll get him in the end before that guy shoots anybody else. He always does. He's saved my life more than a dozen times when the bad guys came after me."

Sara chuckled uneasily, mentally questioning her companion's moral fiber. "Oh, so glad Jim only commits murder after letting himself get winged first. Makes me feel a whole lot better." she said, sarcastically. But then her little smile returned at his puppy dog eyes which were getting self defensive under his unhappy dad's phone tirade. "He's so cute."

"What about me?" Angel muttered. "Am I as attractive as ..as...you are beautiful?"

"Huh?" Sara said, looking up, completely missing his question for the hearts in her eyes for Jim.

"Uh, nothing." evaded Martin, looking out his car window at the advancing fire. "I think something just crashed and burned over there."

"What was it?" Butler asked, still watching Jim judo verbally with his father through the telephone wire.

"It was... nothing major." Martin never wanted to crawl under anything and hide so badly, as he did right then.

Mike Stoker wanted to hide. Immediately. He had an idea of about how long he had been unconscious from the angle of the morning sun's rays which had awakened him forty five minutes ago. It hadn't taken long at all soon afterwards,  
when he found himself playing cat and mouse with a crazy man and his rifle,  
for his life.

"Did you hear that horse scream, fireman? Squealed like a stuck pig when I shot him. That felt goooood." came the manic, cracked voice of a person driven beyond their normal faculties. "So where are ya, hose jockey?! I'm not gonna shoot you. You're human. I only get my kicks from killin' furry things."

Mike Stoker had done the only thing he knew would work to keep safe from the shooter. He had crawled into the deadly reach of the canyon fire. It was taking all he had not to gasp and choke from the slowly disappearing oxygen levels underneath the burning pine tree canopy. That kind of un-natural sound would be heard instantly, and get pin pointed. ::That would probably mean my death, with a few bullets to the back of the head. :: he thought. ::Not that that would matter very much, soon..::  
The wounded engineer could see and hear, but not feel himself dragging on hands and stomach, towards the lake and its far cooler, concealing waters. In the back of his mind, Stoker wondered if he would bleed to death from his internal injuries, before he got there. ::Why doesn't it hurt?:: Another part of his thoughts whispered back to taunt him. ::Because you're in deep shock. You're very far along the path of actually dying, mister.::

**It's called ischemia, Mike.** Gage's voice whispered in his head. **All your organs' circulation is getting cut off by swelling and poor perfusion. There's nothing short of a lightning strike that can kill faster than that. People are usually dead within an hour of it beginning.**

"Johnny?" Mike sobbed, still imagining Gage's voice. "I really need a helping hand here. R-Remember my p-perfect record of... never getting banged up while in uniform?" Stoker tried to suck in a bigger breath to stop feeling suffocated in the blistering heat surrounding him. "Well, that went to sh*t today. Never thought- Ahhh!" he groaned as a building, intense pressure in his abdomen grew with each throb of his heartbeat.

PhewwwWWwwwff! came the whine of a bullet. Mike cried out again as a sharp thud hit his left pinky. The near grazing tore the fingernail off in a shower of gore.

"There you are, to my left, boy!" came the arsonist's cry. "There's no use trying to hide!"

CrackKKK! A whole burning tree top snapped completely off of its trunk, falling earthwards above the two men. In seconds, the heavy flaming mass fell on top of them, pinning them both to the smoldering beach and under the shallow water.

There was no time at all to scream before it happened. Then moments later, there wasn't any room to breathe. Time had run out.

Photo: Rocky and Jim outside Rampart at night.

Photo: Angel standing by Rockford on a payphone.

Photo: Sara Butler looking pensive.

Photo: Angel and Jim arguing over the roof of the gold Firebird.

Photo: A closeup of a gun being pointed.

Photo: Gage holding an injured Stoker's head.

Photo: A burning tree against a gray night sky.

Photo: A falling burning tree hitting the ground.

Photo: A burning forest floor.

From: patti keiper pattik1  
Sent: Monday, May 29, 2017 9:28 AM Subject: At The Brink...

The lush property's birds were singing loudly. It was vile to the firefighters' ears while they were attending their current emergency call. Maybe it was because it was taking so long to get to their patient, and because it involved family.

"L.A. Squad 51, on scene." Brice reported through his HT.

## Squad 51 at 05:37.##

Ben Stone and Roy DeSoto circled Craig Brice's bungalow and decided quickly which way was the least destructive to get into where they believed Karen Overstreet had holed up after fleeing Rampart. Roy got ready to smash open the kitchen window over the sink with his turnout halligan tool.

"Whoa! Whoa! Whoa.. Roy, this window to the bathroom. It's open. I think we can both fit." Captain Stone said, from further down the yard.

"Are the police on their way?" DeSoto asked, knowing that they were a routine protocol taken for any crisis call.

"Yes. I got them when we were split up on the exterior sweep. Smell any gas? I can't smell anything today. Stupid allergies!" Ben cursed.

Roy jogged over and tossed in their gear boxes, those that had nothing breakable, onto the floor, being intentionally loud. "It's clear. Karen! It's the fire department! Are you okay? We're coming in!"

Roy slipped into the house and turned around to intercept the rest of the medical gear that Ben was passing through the opening.

"Karen! Can you hear me? Craig called us when you didn't answer the phone!" Roy yelled, kicking the bathroom door open a little wider to expose the closest hallway.

The multi-level brick bungalow remained silent and still. All DeSoto could hear was the sound of his own activity and rapid breathing as he rushed in grabbing equipment from his partner.

"Swimming pool's empty. Still no answer?" Stone said, hurrying back from his last trip to the squad.

"No."

"D mn. This is the last of it." Ben told Roy, handing off the resuscitator apparatus and the Datascope defibrillator. "Dump it down and go search. Mark the doors with a wax crayon as you go. I'll be right with you. I'll pile the gear in the middle of the house."

DeSoto agreed. "That's a good plan. This place is huge. We've a lot of ground to cover."

The sound of a siren from a police car responding to their address grew in the distance. Ben and Roy tossed their helmets outside to land underneath their open window, through which they had made their entry, as an "it's safe-follow us" cue for the arriving officer.

"I'll sweep counter clockwise from Side A, here. You go the opposite. I'll meet you on Side C half way. H.T. if you find her before I do. Whoever does first, stays with her! Whoever's left brings the equipment." Stone laid out.

"Understood." Roy replied, peeling off his turnout to leave it in the hallway to make himself faster.

Ben copied his move. "Let's go. You're right. We don't need these."

Roy shoved open the very first door along his path, it was a baby's room, dusty, unused. His heart panged at the thought of his own children at home, and what could have been for Brice and Karen. He methodically checked a closet, a kid's bathroom, and an upper bed bunk clubhouse.

Ben Stone's search pattern first hit a pantry. He dug through its coats and immaculately hung clothing bags, aiming a flashlight into all of its corners."Karen! It's Benjamin Stone of 10's with Roy DeSoto! Can you answer us?"

Roy's shouts echoed around corners of sleek marble wall panels in a den, and in and out of a dusty, sunken floor living room.::No pets.:: the back of his mind filed away. ::In a house with two workaholics. Might be a clue tying in that lost pregnancy.:: "Karen Overstreet!"

All too soon, the two paramedics wound up at their end point.

"Oh, no." Roy puffed.

"Any room we could have missed?" Ben panted, spinning around. "I swear, I've got every light in the whole joint turned on."

"The basement's empty." DeSoto sighed in frustration, worried about their lack of contact.

Then they both remembered the tiny two foot cord hanging down from the ceiling in the same hallway as the master bathroom through which they had arrived.

Stone got on his radio. "L.A., Squad 51. All we have left is the attic. We'll be up there."

##Squad 51. Will relay to the P.D. Notify if you need to respond an ambulance.##

"10-4." the paramedic captain acknowledged. Ben put away his handy talkie to a belt clip and then he knelt down so Roy could climb onto his knees to be able to reach high enough to pull down the attic's stairway. Only then did they see that a ring of dust framed its bottom step perfectly on the blue carpeting. "She's got to be up here." he said, spot lighting the telltale dirt silhouette.

"Yep. Karen!" Roy shouted, hurrying up as soon as the stairs stopped moving.

She was in the farthest corner of the attic, in the deepest shadow. A box of sonogram polaroids were opened and laid out, fanned, in a circle around where she sat. Her arms were flung out widely away from her knees like someone when they lose their balance. Overstreet had no idea that the two of them were even there. She wasn't even blinking.

"Doctor Overstreet?" Ben asked softly as they squatted down next to her. "Can you see us?"

The expression on her face was frozen horror. Tears, even hours since she ran away, were still flowing freely. Every limb on her, was shaking. She didn't reply.

DeSoto reached for her wrist slowly. "I'm... just going to get a pulse on you here. I see what's happening to you and I understand what's going on. We're going to help you now, Karen. So...this will just be me... a touch on your arm... Now."

Both he and Ben grabbed her wrists at the same time and tensed, expecting a hysterical fight. But that never came. The devastated intern didn't even start sobbing to match the grief so evident on her face.

"Non-combative." Stone took another care step deeper and examined her eyes with a penlight. "She's definitely not tracking." He felt around her head, back, and body, looking for trauma. "There's no bleeding anywhere. Just sweat. Respirations are non-distressed."

"Then not a fall." Roy let go of Karen's arms and quickly searched the area for any sign of substances or other chemicals that might be responsible for her altered consciousness level. Nothing was out of place. "No pills, no spills, no leaks. Everything's normal, Ben."

Stone sighed, still not letting go of Karen's limp, icy fingers. ::She needs contact.:: He pressed the PTT button on his radio. "Squad 51 to L.A. Patient found... Code 4."

##L.A. Squad 51. Acknowledging- situation okay. Will relay to Engine 51.##

::Half an answer is better than none, Cap. Wish I could tell you that everything's fine, but it's not.:: DeSoto thought as he covered up Karen's shoulders and wrapped her inside of a thick homemade comforter he had found lying on top of a stack of boxes near them.

Stone got up and threw open the attic window shutters, letting in the sunrise and more daylight so they could work. "I'll go call in to Rampart. I'll bring up the biophone after I get my orders and the drug box for a B/P cuff...uh, oh! And I'll get us a Mayfair." Ben's concentration was shattered with Overstreet looking like an acute crisis psych.

Roy immediately understood that gut blow for what it was, well. It was only slightly better than responding to a bad child call. DeSoto watched him hurry off and then he turned down both radios to a effective murmur.

He carefully sat next to Karen and loosened the collar of her blouse so she could breathe a little better. Then he smiled and began speaking to her face to face, holding her hand in both of his. "I heard what happened to you at work last night from the others. And I know why you're physically and emotionally messed up right now. If you're wondering why we're here, Craig called home after Morton told him that he had to cover your shift when you left. But you didn't answer. Craig got worried then about you, and called in the calvary. You're doing okay. We just checked you out. You lost control, but you're not physically injured. So don't worry. We'll be doing more medically for you once a doctor gets in on this in a minute or so." Roy found himself counting the number of tears leaving her eyes, unbidden. ::There aren't enough tears in the world to mourn two lost babies. But she's really trying.:: he thought. "You're going to be okay, Karen. Today is just the first day of a new change."

Stone soon returned. "I brought the I.V. box, too. How's her color?"

"Adequate. These seem to be chills from being up all night, stressed, and from being a little hungry. Nothing convulsive or seizure related." Roy observed, still keeping a mild look on his face for Karen's benefit.

"I got Morton on the line. He's already updated me to her history. There's nothing past what we know, and if we see something, it's new. He wants a Normal Saline drip, 500 in, for her fluid volume loss, then T.K.O. followed by 15 mgs Demerol I.V. for her symptoms. Routine EKG on limb leads. And, yes, they want to put her on a 72 hour hold. Standard hospital procedures." Ben relayed.

"Craig Brice will fight that psychological evaluation order." DeSoto shared.

"I just bet he will. Everybody has a bad day, and that's what this is." he said, crouching protectively by Karen as they began her treatment. "Demerol's a muscle relaxant, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is. I'll try to lie her down before we give it." Roy said. "Morton's planning ahead. It doesn't cloud the mind like Valium does. It lets a person continue to work through whatever's bothering them." Roy nodded.

"I like that kind of thinking in this case. There's no previous mental history. That past post partum depression was only temporarily hormone related." He took Karen's blood pressure. "90 over 64, sluggish.  
Hypoglycemic from not eating?"

"Morton would know the answer to that. He was working with her when it started." said Roy.

"He wants to talk to you, since you've been with her longer." Ben shared, passing over the phone receiver after opening its orange casing. "I'll get a trace going. Two minutes." Ben said.

Roy dialed in and called up the base station. "Rampart this is Rescue 5-1. How do you read?"

##DeSoto, how is she doing?## Mike asked, getting to the heart of the matter.

"She's-She's acutely catatonic. She doesn't react to stimuli or try to pull away from physical contact. There's no traum-."

##DeSoto... Stop! Give me just the basics!## Morton shushed sternly.

"Doctor?" he reacted, startled.

##Is she speaking? Is she talking to you? Responding to questions?!## Mike demanded sharply, openly fretting about his colleague.

"...no." Roy shared softly.

##Give her the shot before the I.V. Do it now, Roy. Don't delay! Sedation's the key to minimizing the long term effects of a break.##

Stone picked up the phone his partner had abandoned to fulfill the order."He's doing it."

##Watch her head as she goes down, if she's upright. That dose I've ordered would K.O. a line backer. I want her feeling detached as much as possible, without her passing out. Make it fast.##

"We're ready." Ben reassured the worried physician.

##Leave me on an open phone line.##

Roy used a simple saline lock to deliver the relaxant.

It took all of ten seconds for Karen's eyes to flutter and finally half shut over bloodshot corneas. Her copious tears' flow suddenly stopped with the mucosal drying medication. Overstreet grunted wetly and sagged in half, over her legs. The two paramedics pulled her straight and positioned her onto her back as dizziness set in.

"That's it, Karen. Just let go. We've got you." Ben said by her ear. "You're not going to be left alone handling this thing."

Roy finally applied EKG leads to her lower arms and lower legs, to monitor. The tachycardia from a minute earlier slipped in increments, down to a slow, regular, fifty eight beats per minute. "No artifact. She's not allergic."

"That's good." Stone nodded, putting away the cardboard pre-loaded epinephrine syringe box he had held in his hand as a standby, just-in-case antidote.

A thundering run up the attic stairs announced the police officer. "Up in the attic! What's your status?!" came the command tone voice of law enforcement who had been too long ignored on the radio.

Both paramedics immediately held up their hands. "It's all right! There are no weapons! She's not suicidal... Not violent! She's just.. "

"...missing her little girl so, very much..." Overstreet whispered, still very deep in her tremendous, crushing emotional pain. "Oh, why did you have to wake me up now?! I-I'm not ready yet!..." she sobbed softly, feeling a weak, righteous anger that very quickly, threatened to drown her. It was the first different emotion they had seen, shooting up as blind panic, when she discovered that she couldn't move to clear her throat.

Ben suctioned out the extra saliva, because Karen could no longer swallow easily. "Easy,.. easy! You're not going to choke, even though it feels like it. See? It's gone."

"Karen, can you hear us now?" Roy asked, leaning over her. "Do you know where you are?"

She finally nodded, crying without a sound. Then she answered the second question. "...no.. *gasp!* Ohgod.. Why am I completely dead inside? I'm..lost? And I don't think...*ugh* I ... still don't know... how to get her back..k..." she agonized quietly, without visual focus.

##They both died, Karen. But you don't have to! Because you have the option not to!## Morton pleaded fervently. ##We'll show you.. how to go on. Please!##

"...o..kay...Mike. I'll stay." she sighed into the phone receiver that had been placed by her head. She then gave up her protective, frightening, spiralling retreat inwards, and fell asleep instantly in Stone's arms.

Photo: Captain Stone by the squad.

Photo: Roy kneeling with a stethoscope.

Photo: Roy starting an I.V. flow.

Photo: Karen Overstreet in a panicked run by an engine.

Photo: Dr. Morton, worried, leaning over the biophone.

Photo: Karen Overstreet sitting in dull panic.

Photo: Squad 51 pulled up to a posh water fountain at a bungalow.

Photo: An attic window, streaming in sunlight.

From: patti keiper pattik1  
Sent: Saturday, June 10, 2017 5:49 PM Subject: Here's To Vacuum Cleaners and Breath Sounds..

Lt. Dennis Becker and Vince Howard led the S.W.A.T. team van to the location on the gravel road where Jim Rockford had said that he and Sara Butler had left Johnny Gage's activated flashlight. It had been extremely difficult to find in the growing wildfire smoke, even with the two of them looking.  
But located it, they did.

Vince decided to figure out a safety margin time estimate for their hastily arranged police department search and rescue operation. "How much time do we have left to look around for Mike Stoker?" Howard shouted to a brush crew firefighter working a fire line beside them, over the roar of the forest fire across the valley.

"About twenty minutes! Thanks, man. It's killing us not to be able to look for him ourselves. Digging this line's been ordered as a top priority to stop the fire. We know this is the best way to help the guy out by stopping the fire's progress uphill, until somebody finds him."

"We'll find him." Becker promised. "We've got a dog. And there's blood sign at the starting point."

"Is Fireman Gage all right?" asked the young fireman in the jumpsuit.

"The paramedic with him didn't seem worried at all when he shipped out." Vince shared.

The young man in the smoke goggle's relief was visible. "Thanks, officer. We weren't allowed to listen in on his rescue's hospital transmissions on scan. I'll pass that along. It'll cheer up the others until Stoker's found."

Howard nodded and ran back towards the police van, holding Gage's flashlight. When the team disembarked, he approached the dog handler. "This is the one." he said, holding up the torch.

"Give it here." said the S.W.A.T. man holding the blood hound's leash. "This is our live dog. Wasn't about to bring the corpse dog and jinx the mission."

"Good man." Howard approved, passing it over. "There's a lot of blood on the road up there, too. Dried, but still visible, belonging to both Gage and a horse."

"That will only help us. They were with Mike Stoker at the other end of the blood trail. Hoover will find him. I swear she's part wood tick." the helmeted police office said, petting her head affectionately.

"Hoover?" Howard chuckled nervously, eyeing up the sparks swirling in the night air around them.

"Yep." grinned the S.W.A.T. man offering the flashlight to his charge. "She sucks down scents like a vacuum cleaner. Her record of finds is almost perfect." Hoover soon got the target odor and she excitedly started straining and baying on the lead. "Gotta go. I'll be on your channel!" he promised.

"You've got twenty minutes. Then it's time to pull out!" Becker shouted. "And that's firm, officer. Then USAR takes over."

The leader of the team flashed him a thumbs up.

The S.W.A.T. team in full riot gear ran after the dog handler and Hoover, surrounding them in a protective circle with their rifles raised, forming a rolling defense against anything the arsonist/sniper might try against them as they tracked along.

A fire department water drop helicopter spoke over their radio. ##S.W.A.T. One. I've got a visual on your team and will follow your progress into the woods from the origin barn. I've got your back with 2500 gallons of lake water, standing by, if it's needed.##

"Appreciate it, Copter Eleven." said the leader over his HT radio.

Lt. Becker grabbed Howard and dragged him towards their squad car. "Come on, let's get back to the fire department's Staging Area." said Dennis.

"Why?"

"A good friend of mine got his car all shot up tonight from our perpetrator. Maybe he's got some leads into where this creep last was, before he fired at the two firemen and their horses. That might provide a clue into his M.O. type that we can use that'll tell us whether he'll go after Mike Stoker or not." the lieutenant replied.

"Case and point." Howard agreed, hurrying along with him. "That idea's far better than hanging around here waiting for something to happen. That chopper can call in the calvary if they find Mike, faster than we can."

Jim Rockford, Angel Martin and Sara Butler had been moved into the fire department's rest and recuperation tent. They had been green triage tagged, much to their annoyance.

"Hey! I wasn't anywhere near the fire." the curly haired Angel Martin insisted to the nurses seated at the folding table near the front entrance flap. "I don't have smoke inhalation like my friends do. Why do I have to stay here?"

The black haired nurse manning the radio station, in between rotating in and out groups of firefighters, was nonchalant. "Mr. Martin. Impersonating the press is a chargable offense in this state. If you don't want to get arrested on the spot by that CHiP officer over there, sit down like a good little boy and finished getting treated."

Angel eyed up Frank Poncherello, who did his best to look tough and angry at him, while he also flirted good naturedly with any female persuasion of firefighter resting on a cooling cot.  
The Hispanic volunteer was handing out ice cold water bottles with a huge toothy white smile as he poured on some trademark healing charm.

Martin immediately sat when one of Frank's black gloves suddenly came to rest on top of his pair of shiny handcuffs. "Listen up to the nice lady, Martin. She knows what she's talking about." Ponch warned him.

Jim Rockford was grumpy. He was being prevented from leaving, too, because he had accepted oxygen treatment from the fire department. "Listen, you've got to understand. I have to pick up my Dad at the hospital. He was released three hours ago."

"With what?" Sara smirked. "The police impounded your Firebird as evidence. Smart of you to anticipate that they'd do that in advance like you did." The calm young woman nodded at the young nurse who was doing a follow up blood pressure check on her. "If you stay quiet, our future ambulance ride will take us right to your father, still waiting at Rampart."

Jim looked at her as if she had grown a third eyeball. "Sara! I don't have 400 dollars to blow on an ambulance bill! If anything, my bank account's negative 3,000 bucks, and growing, on account of my dad's new medical costs."

"Don't you guys have insurance? If you don't, I can sell you and Rocky some." Angel quipped, opening up his news reporter mock up jacket to expose a few pamphlets.

Rockford just shot him a look hotter than the fire outside.

Angel bellied up, his hands palms facing out. "Just trying to help out my friends in a rough spot.  
Can't blame a man for trying." he grinned, avoiding eye contact.

"Not now, Angel. I'm covered! We're both covered. It's the premiums that are murdering me as Dad gets older, and has more mishaps. I've been paying them out entirely solo."

"Being accident prone runs in the family?" the nurse at the table piped up, her pen poised over Jim's patient chart.

The wiry detective frowned at her witheringly. "M.Y.O.B. lady. You're not my care provider here."

"No, but he is." she stated, pointing in the direction of the tent entrance. "He'll be relieving me shortly."

Roy DeSoto was just returning back to brush fire duty. He rushed over to the nurse's table. "Okay, give me what you have." he said to her, pulling on a bright blue In-Charge Triage vest. "The worst first."

"There aren't any, Roy. Not even any reds or yellows." she answered, bored. "Just these three green tags you see getting processed here."

"W-What about Johnny Gage? I heard he was here. He must have been hurt a whole hell of a lot to not be able to call in." Roy reasoned, accepting their metal charts into his arms.

The nurse apologized to Roy DeSoto, with a look.  
"He's already off the charts and has been checked in as an in-hospital. I'm afraid any information on your fellow paramedic went in with him, Mr. DeSoto. Have you tried contacting your captain? He's the one who got him out of the fire zone."

"Brice did?!"

"Yes. On Battalion Chief Hank Stanley's order." she shared. "That priority came down the pipes quickly. It all went down about a half an hour before I was flown in here to work for a bit in your place."

"Captain Brice of Station 51 found him?!" Roy was completely flabbergasted.

"No, I did. That Brice fella only patched him up a little." said Jim Rockford. "Remember me? You and Johnny rescued my dad a few days ago."

DeSoto accomplished a disbelieving, uncomprehending double shake of his head.

"Roy..." Sara prompted.

"What?" DeSoto tensed, trying to digest what had happened into his tired brain.

"Go call him. You'll get your news faster that way." Butler suggested. "Jim and I won't be able to tell you enough to satisfy your worries about Johnny."

"Oh, you're beautiful! I'd kiss you if I wasn't already happily married." Roy celebrated. "I'll contact Cap right away on H.T. I mean my Cap. My new Cap. Oh, you know what I mean." and he rushed off towards the coffee pot and a quiet corner to make the transmission.

Angel Martin hooked a thumb over his shoulder. "Who was that guy?"

Sara smirked. "The still missing man's coworker, who's about to find out that his best friend's A-okay."

\- "Mr. Rockford?" came a very deep voice.

"Yes, already! That's me. I'm wearing an I.D. bracelet for Pete's sake! Can't you keep it straight in your heads yet about who I- oh, hi, Officer Howard." Jim amended, still letting a nurse's aid check his pupils with a penlight.

"Do I know you?" Vince asked.

"Not yet."

Vince gave him a funny look.

"I read your name tag." Rockford shrugged, tossing up a pointer finger up at the burly officer's black uniform shirt.

Lt. Becker smirked and crossed his arms. "Oh, he's good."

"Even while I'm being blinded." Rockford grumbled at the oblivious nurse, fussing over him. "What can I do for you fellas? Wasn't handing over my sports car enough for you guys?"

"We're not keeping it. We're just ... photographing it and taking a few powder samples."

"In all this soot?" Jim asked sarcastically. "We drove through miles of it."

"Hmmm.. Then everything but the bullet hole's been..." Howard began.

Rockford cut him off "...corrupted. That's right. Now gimme my car back. All the evidence you're ever going to get off of it is entirely visual."

"We can keep your windshield." Becker teased.

"Aw, come on, Dennis! I've had far worse than a really bad day. Are you really going to add to the pile of complete and utter horse honkey onto my plate?"

"What's horse honkey?" asked Angel, whispering.

"Horse shit." supplied Sara, also whispering as she took in the ongoing tennis match.

Martin acted affronted, sucking in a shocked breath. "*Gasp* And you're a lady!"

"Jim was being polite because I... am a lady." Butler blinked in snobbish glee.

"So am I." said the nurse examining Rockford's lungs with a stethoscope. "Aww, that was sweet, sir."  
she said, grinning at her detective patient. "You should hear the trucker mouth talk pouring out of all of these firefighters at times. Will curl your ears tighter than the curls on your-"

"What's he sound like?" came DeSoto's voice, prompting Jim's nurse.

"Clear. Have a peep at him." she invited, vacating the stool she had wheeled over to the chair row everybody was gathered around. She passed off her stethoscope to Roy who promptly put the buds from it into his ears.

"Has anybody asked me?" Rockford snarled. "It's my chest!"

"Shh!" The black haired nurse at the radio table hissed.

Rockford didn't back down from clutching the buttons protectively on his shirt.

"May I?" Roy shrugged mildly, opening up his gloved hands without touching him.

"Oh, whatever." Jim barked. "There's nothing like free medical care before you refuse an ambulance trip."

Angel's head pivoted around from the view he was enjoying of Poncherello crashing and burning in his date propositioning activities across the tent room. "You mean, w-we can do that?"

"Yeah, Angel. It's called an AMA form." Rockford whispered under Roy's ministrations.

"Against. Medical. Advice." Roy supplied. "I wouldn't recommend it this time." he warned Martin, shaking his head seriously.

"Oh? What'd you find?" Jim quailed, suddenly contrite, looking down at the stethoscope drum making rounds across his dark, hairy pec muscles.

"Some rales. Left side. Might turn into pneumonia in a few hours if it's not thwarted soon by a doctor and some bronchiodilators." Roy told him.

"Eeow. Sounds unpleasant." Sara frowned, her nose crinkling. "So what about me? I hereby give.. my consent, sir. Do your worst."

Roy checked her out, vital signs and lungs. "You're fine, Miss..."

"..Butler. I'm that waitress from yesterday morning at the restaurant. From the heart attack?"

"Oh, yeah.. Now I remember you. You've got nice C.P.R. delivery." Roy admired, written down the data he had gotten from the two of them onto their charts.

"Thanks." Sara blushed. "So how's Jim doing? He's my date."

"He needs some work." DeSoto told her seriously.

"I'll say." Butler quipped.

"Sara!" Jim complained.

Both Roy and Sara laughed out loud.

DeSoto bailed out his P.I. patient's butt. "I'll get a doctor over here for a second opinion on your breath sounds. You can still sign off, but it might make for a rough night."

"It sure has been one of those, Mr. DeSoto." Jim sighed, breaking into a cough, unbidden.

"I can make his night better, Roy." Sara said. Then she looked at Jim. "You know,.. later on." she winked, in conspiracy. "I'm really good medicine."

Rockford finally started to smile for the first time that evening.

\- Photo: Lt. Dennis Becker on a squad car radio.

Photo: Sara Butler listening to Jim Rockford intently.

Photo: Roy DeSoto on an H.T. looking worried.

Photo: Vince Howard inside of a room.

Photo: Angel Martin listening to Jim Rockford closely.

Photo: A night brush fire with a smoke jumper crew in a line.

Photo: A firefighter rehabilition tent.

Photo: A S.W.A.T. team member with a red blood hound leaping out of a car.

From: patti keiper pattik1  
Sent: Saturday, July 22, 2017 11:32 PM Subject: Taking Care Of Business...

"So what can you tell us about the guy who shot at you?" asked Dennis Becker of Jim Rockford.

"Not much. It was dark. Well, maybe not all that dark because of the fifty foot flames ringing town."  
he groused sarcastically.

"It's not my fault your new girlfriend's house's so close to the fire! So hush." the lieutenant chided.  
"We found a clue. The guy may be weaponless now. One of our dogs found a burned up hunting rifle a couple of minutes ago. There was enough of a serial number still on it to get the name of a registered owner."

"So we have an honest criminal, following the permit to carry law?" Angel grinned.  
"How'd he miss the obvious crook 101 about not leaving a paper trail?"

"Maybe it's not his gun." Vince suggested. "Plenty of people in the area panicked and dropped what they were doing the second that EBS broadcast about the fire went over the air."

"It was partially hidden inside of a tree." Dennis defended. "The man's name is Blair Todd, He's 56 years old and he's a certified public accountant with the city of Carson."

"Oh, now, Dennis,.. come on! CPAs don't get psychotic. They mess up your tax forms if they want revenge. They don't try to blow your head off with a rifle." Jim said.

"Well this one might." Becker countered.

"What makes you believe that?" coughed Jim with laughter.

"Because his wife just died last week in a house fire. Los Angeles County firefighters couldn't get her out in time before the roof collapsed." the lieutenant said.

"Oh, that's... a pretty good reason to crack up, if you're going to, Jimmy Boy." Angel minced, not smiling at the nurse offering him a donut from off of a snack plate.

"That doesn't explain why he shot at Sara and me, Angel. We're not firefighters." Rockford told Martin, trying to figure it all out. He declined the food tray.

"No, but you said you two were with some recently. Like him for example?" Martin pointed out,  
glancing at Roy DeSoto.

"What?" Roy asked, looking up from the triage charts he was creating on the others for documentation.

Vince brightened. "Do you think Mr. Todd watched Jim Rockford's father's rescue?"

"It couldn't of been anything else, Officer Howard. Maybe he was jealous of my dad surviving his truck fire, and so he's picking on me because he can't reach Rocky, who's no longer in the hospital. Can't find some one no longer in a bed." the P.I. suggested.

"And he picked on Johnny and his poor friend Mike, because they were in uniform playing around with Rocky's horses." Sara added. "So is this Blair settling for secondary targets?"

"Bit of a stretch." Howard frowned. "A sniper plus arsonist?"

"Officer, you can't use logic when it comes to craziness. Someone either has it, or they don't." Butler glared.

Becker sighed. "I just hope Mike Stoker can manage his smarts enough to survive Todd's currently launched murderous brand of stupid out there in the woods."

DeSoto was firm. "He can. He knows his way in and out of a fire even better than Johnny and I."

Howard jumped when his radio toned out another pull back of his department away from the mountain fire. "So there's our M.O. What's next?"

"A man hunt with all possible, available personnel." Becker planned.  
"That's one better than the lone S.W.A.T. and two squad cars we have investigating now."

Jim swallowed with determination. "I'm going to go take a shower. I'm gritty."

"Me, too." Sara agreed, "I was in the same car as you."

"OOo. Are you gonna come clean with me?" Jim perked up, hugging Sara from behind. "Honey, can I help with soaping your cute little nose."

"Wrong time and place, mister mister." Butler pushed Jim away with a grin. She turned to the triage nurse. "I assume you have decontamination showers for all your patients?" she asked, gesturing to herself, Rockford and Angel Martin.

"We do. Straight down and to the left. Don't forget to scrub under your finger nails.  
Anything burned by a fire's toxic." she replied, pointing with a pencil.

"So's letting a killer remain loose out in the woods." Rockford mumbled, "I think I'm going hunting with you, Dennis. If you'll have me. I've more than a little score to settle."

"No problems here. Everybody's under manned because of all of this extra duty associated with the brush fire." Becker promised. "We'll take you."

"Can I go, Chief Band-aid?" Rockford asked Roy DeSoto, who was fidgeting because everybody was talking about leaving before seeing an on site doctor.

"Uh, just Fireman DeSoto, Mr. Rockford. Sign these and you can do anything you want around the fire scene so long as someone law enforcement is with you in escort."  
said Roy, handing off a chart with three forms on them and the same number of pens.  
"Those are handed down orders from MY chief, Battalion Five, Hank Stanley."

"Gotcha." he replied, Jim, genuinely smiling in gratitude. "Just gimme a pen." he winked.

"These are A.M.A. forms, Jimmy. Hey, I remembered." said Angel Martin.

"Ah, that's good, Angel. I doubt we'd be allowed to stick a single toe outside without donating our signatures first." Jim told him. "Got your safari get up handy? 'Cause that's where we're going next. Into all that actively burning wilderness after that at large nut case."

"Oh, I wouldn't miss this little adventure for all the world. I was bored until I remembered you and the debt you still owed me, Sly."

"I paid you in full, remember that?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah. Of course. That Hamilton's weighing heavy in a shirt pocket. I can't forget it."

"You might by tomorrow." the P.I. teased.

"Jim Bone, have faith in your Angel!" Martin shot back, getting caught on the hook.

"Only in the invisible Guardian type, Martin. I'm not very religious at all." Rockford said, handing his completed form with Sara's and Angel's, back to Roy.

Roy DeSoto left his post as soon as he could. He found Captain Craig Brice standing on the hill in Staging above Triage.

Craig was already smiling calmly when he spied DeSoto riding up to him on the back of a brush truck headed into the fire zone. "Anything notable?" he asked the blue vested paramedic, about the three people he knew Roy had seen in the tent.

DeSoto reported on them as soon as he hopped off and waved good luck to the fire crew headed off into the blaze. "No. They've cleared off voluntarily. Got the papers. We're empty of cases for the moment."

"Good. I figured that, because why else would you be here and not there?"

DeSoto's ears almost started smoking.  
"Why didn't you tell me right away about Johnny being found? I had to hear about it from a patient." Roy said, leaning into Craig, letting anger show in his eyes.

"He was fine. He transported. He needed nothing spectacular for treatment paramedic wise. I didn't want you to worry about him at all DeSoto." Craig admitted, dropping his captain's pretense instantly.

"Do you have kids, Brice?" DeSoto asked, working his jaw tightly.

The question startled Craig into a dead pan reaction as his heart panged in memory of Karen Overstreet's recent crisis call. "You know the answer to that, Roy. First hand."  
he replied quietly.

Roy blanched. Brice never used anyone's first name. Ever. Now he had just used his.  
"Sorry. Oh, man, Craig. I wasn't poking at the sore spot. I was just going to say that having a regular partner in a squad is exactly like having a kid. I am doomed to worry about Johnny for the rest of my life now. How about we trade call notes on Karen and Gage? Just between the two of us. For this once, break the rules, Brice. For me, as well as for yourself. There's nobody around now, who'll hear us."

Brice's mouth flopped open for a few blank seconds. He actually rubber necked quick glances at the other fire departments working and setting up around them, who were indeed, just like Roy had said, completely out of over hearing distance. He took off his skunk striped helmet and parked it by its strap off of his duty belt. "O-Okay, everything off the record. Tell me about Karen, DeSoto. It's killing me right now, not knowing all of the details. I was told nothing concrete." His knees actually started wobbling.

Roy sat him down on a tree stump. "She didn't harm herself. There was no indication of her being suicidal. But she was catatonic to the point where an I.M was needed to snap her out of it. She hadn't eaten or taken any fluids, Stone and I think, for about a day and a half. Her vital signs were good, Brice. Dr. Morton definitely managed to talk her out of retreating mentally. So she never got to the point of no return. It was just a nervous breakdown, not a psychotic break I think."

"Are you sure about that?" Brice asked, in a tiny whisper, afraid to look up from the ground.

"Yes. Every instinct of mine screamed for it. Stone's, too. She'll be okay once she starts to grieve losing that pregnancy of both of yours, in a normal way." Roy told him, not letting go of Brice's shoulder. "My guess is she tried to bury her feelings in a ton of work and it backfired when a patient's death painfully reminded her of it again before she even had an inkling of how much she was actually hurting inside."

Craig let out the breath he was holding. "Thank you, DeSoto. Having a clearer picture will do wonders for my ability to concentrate on other things today. Okay, my turn. Do you want my log?" he asked, pointing to his seat.

"Uh, no.. I'm fine." Roy shrugged.

"Johnny was hypothermic and a bit dyspneic. He never lost color, but he was bagged for a bit. He wasn't hypovolemic from blood loss. His head gash was minimal, maybe 200 CC's loss on the ground. He had a negative Babinski, but he was non-reactive to pain. His pupils were normal and equal. There was no posturing. The doctor who treated him over the radio seem to think that he'd come around with a little warm pushed fluids. I didn't see any sign of skull fracture or brain stem tearing. His EKG was unremarkable. I think he was out cold because he was tired and still a bit stunned physically in an overall effect, resulting from his fall off of the horse driver's bench."

Roy rubbed his face in relief for several long, weary seconds, getting in control of his suddenly releasing emotions. Then he spoke. "Anything on Mike? I can't believe he wasn't found near Johnny."

"The guy who found him was being shot at. He had to rescue Gage quickly and then had to flee the area in a car. Jim Rockford and his girlfriend Sara probably saved his life. Have you seen them?"

"We've been introduced. They were two of the three green tag patients of ours earlier." Roy chuckled.

"Glad they're safe. That's three less civilians for me to worry about." Brice nodded, replacing the white striped Station 51 helmet back onto his head.

"Can you call about Johnny now?" Roy requested. "You know, to nab a current status report about him from the Rampart staff?"

"I'm going to pull all available strings, DeSoto. Immediately. Or I'm not being your captain. I may not be next of kin to them, in this situation, but I am entirely responsible for documentation of injury for insurance purposes. I'll play that particular legal card to the hilt."

Roy began to smile really big. "And we've got Chief Hank Stanley as a backup authority figure.  
Outstanding! Dixie can't say no to that. No matter how loud Morton barks at her about rigid information sharing protocols."

Brice sighed. "I...I'm beginning to see how wrong I was about restricting who can talk to whom on rescue scenes.. Perhaps I should rethink my thinking to an 'on a need to know' basis."

"I think you're right." Roy agreed. "That's how we've always done it at Station 51, in the past."

Craig got on his handy talkie to L.A. to set up a patch to the main E.R. desk.  
-

The hunt had begun. Angel Martin was regretting ever sharing his sniper stalking firefighter theory.  
He was hot. He was sweaty. And he was coughing again, even though fire crews they passed told them that the air was at completely acceptable safe levels for breathing. ::That close to a raging blaze.:: his mind added with vehemence. ::I want an air bottle and mask like all of them have.:: he thought miserably. Martin unsuccessfully tried to cheer himself by berating his best friend who was currently leading him all over creation, looking for the bad guy.  
"You washed your butt. You've seen your girlfriend, now you're just begging for a bush whacking!" he told Rockford. "Why are we putting ourselves in danger un-necessarily?"

Jim whirled on Martin. "We didn't ask you to tag along for this little adventure of ours. You invited yourself, if you do recall. I wanna catch this unscrupulous guy of ours so I can collect his insurance money through the courts to pay for my shot out windshield! So keep your voice down! Why we're currently creeping around the woods like this real stealth-like with a capital letter S, is so we won't get ourselves killed!"

Sara giggled. "Nobody can hear us, Jim. The fire's being too loud. It's why you're shouting to be heard."

"I know that, Sara! I'm-" he broke off when he realized that it was the truth. "Well, we still gotta keep our heads down. There are cops with us, all over this burned out zone, with itchy fingers on the triggers. Ever heard of death by friendly fire?"

"No." Martin piped up innocently.

Jim Rockford did a double take over his shoulder. Then he just sighed. "Just stay behind us and do what we do, Angel Martin. And you'll be fine." he said, swiping a sooty mesquite branch away from his face as he stepped through the underbrush.

"I'm getting thirsty."

"We just left the R and R tent, Angel! Not five minutes ago. Here, you can have mine."  
he said, passing over a water bottle from his jacket pocket.

"I'm hot, too. Can you fix hot?" Martin asked absently, bubbling around the water he began to chug with alacrity.

"I sure can't." Sara joked, preening herself flirtatiously for Jim.

Rockford cat called softly for her benefit in appreciation and grinned.

"Guys! Life or death here.." Martin complained, getting more mad that they were playing around in such a serious situation.

"We'll crawl under a fire hose if we have to." the P.I. promised him.

Sara nodded at them both. "Let's hope it won't come to that any time soon. These firefighters look like they know what they're doing. I think we're still completely safe."

"As long as we can still see them." Angel snapped. "And they can see us."

"For now." Jim murmured, wiping his gun hand on his pants trousers to dry his palm.  
"This fire's getting to be monster sized."

A police officer chucked a stick that hit Rockford in the back to get his attention.

"What?! Oh... We're off course. The dog went that way, guys. Less talking and more watchin', I guess?" Rockford shot back at the other two. Sara just smiled patiently,  
passing through the thick brumbles like mercury, and silent as a ninja.

Angel was finally cowed by the enormity of possible consequences he might be facing because of the choice he had made to go after Jim yesterday. He fell silent and he tried to emulate Butler, his scared eyes combing the smoky slopes for either signs of the sniper or Mike Stoker.

Johnny Gage snapped awake to the sound of the hissing oxygen mask he was wearing.  
"Mike! Look out!"

He tried to move, but something was holding him down on crisp, ozone smelling sheets.

"Easy, Gage.. This is Dr. Morton. You're safe now. How's your head doing?"

Johnny grunted, blinking grit out of his sore eyes. He panicked for a few seconds when he realized that a set of strong fingers were holding onto both sides of his head. "Am I at Rampart?" he rasped. "In ICU?"

"Yes. Answer the question."

The inside of Johnny's mouth tasted foul. Old blood and...::Suction tube.:: he pegged.  
"How bad was I earlier?"

"You were just sleepy... Gage. I know you understood me." Morton warned.

"Okay.. okay. I know my name, the date, who the president is. Now tell me all the H*ll about Mike Stoker! Has he been brought in yet?"

The doctor let him go. "Ah, so there's no concussion after all. Your condition first. Then I'll talk about your friend. So keep answering my questions. I can hard ball harder than you can, six year Paramedic Johnny Gage. You learned it from this six year physician! So shut up and start telling me what I want to hear!"

Johnny finally felt the full weight of his exhaustion as his adrenaline rush of returning to consciousness swiftly wore off. It weakened his voice to a frightening breathless whisper. "Sorry.. *gasp*. Can't." he slurred.

He felt a new wave of energy sweep through his body. His teeth clenched together in reaction to a stimulant. Dr. Morton had injected a dose of epinephrine into his I.V. line. The M.D. leaned over the bed again. "I'm just trying to save you an x-ray bill. Shots are cheaper. Let's try this secondary survey interview attempt again."

Johnny took in a deep breath of oxygen and finally focused internally between his ears. "No dizziness. I lost some time. From... when it happened to now."

"I gathered that. You were shouting for your firefighter friend a few moments ago. Tell me what I don't know yet, Johnny Gage. Quit messing around."

"All right, all right, all right. There's no pain anywhere past muscles, doc. Neck's fine, sight's fine. And ...I think I really gotta pee."

"Funny guy. Okay. A deal's a deal. Stoker hasn't been located yet."

Johnny felt his EKG monitor speed up in response. "What time is it, Dr. Morton? Has it been all night? He could be dead by now! A horse was shot almost out from under us."

"It's morning. Almost noon. Lie still. I'll grab a nurse to go get you a urinal can. I'm not ordering a catheter. You don't need it." Morton said, raising the bars of the exam bed back up again. He gathered up his spent syringe papers and waste from Johnny's bed spread. "That's more money I'm saving you."

"I'm not out any. It's the fire department's cash we're spending."

"Were you on duty when it happened?" Mike fired back.

Johnny paled, realizing that he hadn't been.

"Thought so. Just rest up and think pleasant thoughts. After you empty your bladder, I'll see about getting you some soft food. Your blood sugar levels suck right now." the doctor said, darting across the room with an armful of charts.

"Dr. Morton.." Johnny called out after him.

Mike spun on his heels, gripping the side of the treatment room door impatiently. "I'll let you know about Stoker as soon as I hear anything. We've got the scanner on in the breakroom." he replied quickly. Then he disappeared into the bustling main hallway. The door shut between them.

Johnny sighed let his head fall back onto the pillow. ::I really hate being laid up to the point of where I can't stand on my own two feet. I really wanna sneak out of here.::  
he thought. ::I'm needed at the fire to give out some info on his whereabouts.::

A new voice at the door startled him. "That won't work, Sonny Boy. I can read your mind."  
said Joseph Rockford, peeking in.

"Rocky? What are you doing here? I thought you were a patient." Gage asked him.

"I was. I got discharged because of the current fire emergency. And my son's been too busy to come get me! He said something about a sniper. Not too happy about that. No, siree."

Johnny chuckled. "Your son's probably looking for my friend now. He's still missing somewhere out there in the big fire."

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that. Here." he said, handing Johnny a urinal can from a nearby counter top. "I'll go stand by behind the curtain while you take care of this business. I can see the bulge your insides are making through the sheets from way over here! I used to be a corpsman."

"Thanks."

"Least I can do for someone who saved my life!" Rocky barked. "Sorry. I'm still mad at being trapped inside this joint." The two men continued their conversation with each other through the wall of white fabric between them. "Was Neb shot up really bad? I wanna know what to tell his owner next time I see him." Rocky asked.

"It hit him somewhere around the head. There was a lot of blood, but I remember he could still run and..." Johnny broke off, being considerate. "I'm sorry.."

"...scream and buck. That's probably how both of you firefighters fell. It's okay. I can take the details. I've seen worse in the Korean War and so has my boy."

"Your son was a soldier?"

"No. For a while both he and I lived on the streets when his mother left us suddenly for another man. We were both targetted and became frequent crime victims, because we were naturally too nice to everybody. Too often, we got beat up. It made him mad. That's how, back then, that he had to do some prison time, after trying to protect me. Jim's still got a large chunk of that temper. And he's ...still learning how to control it these days. Even years later." Rocky shared. "All set?"

"I'm done. I tossed the thing into the sink." Gage announced shakily.

Rocky rushed back out into the main exam room, just in time to help Johnny lay back down onto the gurney. "Quit with all of that sitting. You're in no condition to do much of anything just yet."

"Too late. I'm already worrying. Tell me honestly. Are you any good at breaking and entering, Rocky?" Johnny asked. "I need you to help me again."

The friendly looking old man pegged him with a suspicious look. "How so?"

"Get into the secured doctor's lounge and listen to all of the fire department broadcasts from the radio they got on in there. It's the fastest way I'm going to get news about my friend Mike Stoker." Gage explained.

"I'll do it. I'll come back every ten minutes with updates. I'll take notes!" he promised.

"Good man.. I think I'm... I'm gonna take a little nap here."

"You do that. I'll shake you awake the second I hear word that they've found him. With any luck my son'll be with him at that point."

Photo: Jim Rockford and smiling Sara Butler

Photo: Dennis Becker, close up, looking mad.

Photo: Vince Howard in a helmet by an engine.

Photo: A forest fire's heart.

Photo: Jim and Sara looking exhausted.

Photo: Roy DeSoto speaking on a radio in turnout at night.

Photo: Craig Brice wearing a cap's white inspection dress hat.

Photo: Johnny Gage on oxygen with an I.V. hanging by his head.

Photo: Joseph Rockford, smiling.

Photo: Dr. Morton with a playing hardball expression on his face.

**************************************************  
From: patti keiper pattik1  
Sent: Sunday, July 23, 2017 5:38 PM Subject: Man Of The Cloth..

Battalion Five, the newest chief in the county, felt old. In his hand he had Johnny Gage's red triage tag ticket that had been slashed with a black marker. It was labelled transported. It should have made him feel relieved that his paramedic had been found and safely sent on to a hospital. But all he felt, was a nagging anxiety for Mike Stoker.

"Hank, we've news." said Chief Malone, Battalion One.

"Give it to me." Stanley said, perking up. He crossed his fingers hopefully.

"The town's entirely clear. The crime scene crew's been moved out from the site where that private investigator's car got shot up. And L.A.P.D. confirms that all businesses and homes have been checked and are 100% visibly marked as evacuated."

"What's left to do then? We're at the max for water drops from the reservoir, we've the latest weather reports on wind conditions. We have all of the on site accountability crew lists. USAR is standing by in case somebody ignores the mandatory evacuation order and gets caught in town when the fire hits. Triage is absolutely empty. That's a first. Seems a shame now that we're flying in a doctor and a nurse to help Roy DeSoto. What am I missing?"

Lou smiled. "Absolutely nothing at all, chief." Malone nodded. His heavy set, but wise eyes, were crinkling. "You've covered the bases. Still want the I.C.  
spot over the whole fire operation for another day?"

"No. I've a missing man in my division. I want in on his search and rescue mission." Stanley replied.

"You've got it. You are relieved." Lou gestured. "Inform L.A. of the switch out.  
They don't have to know the reason why. That's your prerogative."

Hank immediately took off the vivid lime green vest and dropped it on the ground.  
He passed off the work slate and keys to the stand by morgue area to Malone.  
"Do you want to wear that?" Stanley asked, toeing the reflective vest.

"No, It'd never fit. I'm too fat." Lou chuckled. "I'll dry marker up my helmet with the initials instead."

"Thanks, Lou. I owe you one."  
Hank Stanley fled the hill. He lifted his HT eagerly, to his mouth. "L.A. Battalion Five. Incident Command of Operations is transferring to Battalion One effective immediately. I'll be located with the S and R ongoing for the missing firefighter."

##Battalion Five, L.A. copies at 12:07. Battalion One is now designated I.C. at the Thief's Ridge Fire.##

::That doesn't sound good at all. I hate it when the media names a wildfire. Don't they know it stirs up even more sparks?:: Stanley thought, thinking about copy cat repeat arsonists. ::A named fire gives them a reason to go out and do this kind of craziness again, somewhere else, just for the fame/thrill factor.::

He jumped into his new red chief's car and soon, he figured out where Engine 51 was assigned. There he ran into Roy DeSoto, Craig Brice, Chet Kelly and Marco Lopez, hard at work on an equipment rotation detail.

"Cap! I mean Chief! How's it going?" said Marco happily, from where he was filling air bottles from a gas tanker.

"Pretty much how I guessed it would go. Call me Hank, since the old nickname's taken." he winked. Then he pulled out Gage's triage tag and slapped it against Brice's chest. "Good work, Craig. He's half of our missing two. Go enter him into the log book in the Ward."

Brice nodded and left immediately, leaving Stanley with the other three Station 51 firefighters.

Chet leaned in. "What don't you want him to hear?"

"Chet Kelly, would I gossip about another guy behind his back?"

"Uh, no, C- er Chief. I was just joshing around a little. He's been under a lot of stress since his girlfriend took a loop."

"Is he doing okay by all of you?" Hank wondered, squinting seriously at his old crew. "I mean about Brice, and not our currently local, station prankster who's here. Everybody high up already know how Kelly rolls."

"Yes." said Roy. "Uh..." "Well... " "I guess..." replied the others.

"Define those huffs of doubt, pronto. You don't have to hold your tongues.  
I'm still your pal."

"He muzzled us, Hank." complained Kelly.

DeSoto held up a finger and clarified. "For a time. But now he's retracting it when it comes to firefighter/public communications and information sharing."

Marco gaped. "That's different. Brice? Retracting a captain's order?"

Roy got annoyed. "His past reputation aside, Marco, Craig is suddenly a different man. This new rank of his is changing him from the inside out.  
He's finally seeing that he can't be so rigid or regulation stiff when it comes to managing whole groups of people: our station crew, other agencies, even sets of public eye witnesses. He has to keep his mind open to everything, all the time now, just to see the bigger picture."

"Yep." Hank Stanley grinned, crossing his turn coated arms over themselves. "Exactly what I was checking for. Did he pass muster?" he asked specifically of Roy.

The others fell silent.

"Yeah. For the most part. It was an added complication that Karen Overstreet was a call under his jurisdiction that he had to delegate out to someone else." DeSoto shared, not afraid to analyze their new crew structure situation.  
"She's family."

"And..." hinted Stanley.

"She'll be fine, sir. You have my word on it. Stone's, too."

"Okay, I'll leave Brice on duty today."

"Uh,... Cap.." Roy murmured.

"What?" Stanley replied automatically to his old, but still familiar title.

"Let him go see her. Having a girlfriend is no different than having a wife."  
DeSoto shared. "Being away from her like this is tearing him up."

"Oh. G*d. I must be blind!" Hank said, whirling around in place. "Is it because I'm married, Roy?" he grimaced. "I've never ever connected people who are still dating, for getting emergency leave before."

The others were kind enough not to comment.

"All right. I'm cutting him loose. I'm taking over the old spot per the medical and being the only available relative clause."

"I'm pretty sure he's expecting this." Roy grinned.

"Quite. He didn't even say hi so he could get his paperwork done faster.  
So, guys, are you getting comfortable enough with him and his style of captaincy yet?" Stanley probed one last time, rubbing his gloves together.

"For the most part." "Yeah." "He's okay." "No problems here." said his old firefighter shift crewmen.

Craig Brice slammed the driver's door of Engine 51 shut on purpose to get their attention.

Hank made a cut throat gesture his way and jerked a thumb over his shoulder after displaying a count of twenty four for hours on his fingers. "See you Friday!" he shouted. He spared Craig Brice some dignity by not watching him run tiredly for a departing chopper on a return trip for Rampart. Craig didn't even wave at Dixie and Dr. Brackett getting off the flight as he eagerly climbed aboard.  
Dixie instantly understood and caught the H.T. handy talkie and the captain's helmet that Craig tossed down to her.

"L.A., Battalion Five." Hank transmitted.

#Battalion Five.##

"I'll be assuming captainship of Station 51, per an EML."

##Copy a granted emergency medical leave and your reassignment, E-51. At 12:13. ##

The gang watched Craig's helicopter take to the air and disappear into the smoke.

Hank sighed. "Hi Dixie, Dr. Brackett. Thanks for these." he said taking the equipment that Brice had nearly forgotten, from their hands. "Seeing Karen couldn't wait any longer." He traded out his white helmet for his old captain's skunk striped one. Just putting it on made him feel like a huge weight just went sliding off of his shoulders. ::That's a good enough first time as a Battalion. I'll take another stint as chief once my probationary period's over.:: he decided. ::Right now,  
my men need me just as I used to be.::

"It'll be a good visit." Dixie McCall smiled. "She's finally taking visitors."

"Thank you for the update. Karen's good people." Hank said.

"Even Dr. Morton's saying that these days." Brackett agreed. "She'll be an excellent doctor very soon. What happened to her was just a bump in the road."

"A hard one." McCall added. "But temporary."

"How Triage?" Kel nodded, looking all around at the fire with a practiced eye.

"We're empty, doc." Captain Stanley replied.

"That'll change, boys. Mark my words. Korea used to get like this." Dixie shot back. "Lulls before the big rushes."  
Roy gestured. "Come on, I'll get you two and all of your jump gear settled into the R and R tent."

Once the medical three had departed, Cap turned to face Marco and Chet.  
"Tell me all about what's being done to find Mike. Being so high up in the command chain's made it hard to keep track of all of the simpler things like single rescue assignments."

Chet Kelly grabbed his elbow and led him to Engine 51 and the log book Craig had left on Hank's seat. "In a nutshell. S.W.A.T., Vince, dogs, a P.I., and his girlfriend, an L.A.P.D. lieutenant named Dennis Becker,  
and an informant on the street named Angel Martin. The whole lot of them are out there in the middle of the fire, searching out scent trails or potential hiding spots. The guy we all want, may have lost his gun. We heard it over police band that they had found a rifle that matched the shells left in town."

"Crack pots always have more than one weapon on them." Cap reasoned.

"Yeah, but how many get caught up in the very same forest fire they started?"

"I see your angle, Kelly. Stoker has the advantage here, if he's still in one piece."  
Cap said fiercely. "Is your detail complete?"

Lopez disconnected the fill tubing from the last air bottle in his row. "Yep. This one was the last to tank."

"Hop in. I'm taking us to the police I.C. We're going to muscle in on their search mission. We have every right to be there because there's still a fire out of control." he said gleefully. "And they need a fire safety on standby for any operation working in a fire zone, per the law, am I right?"

Marco just laughed. "Chief training's coming in handy, Cap. This is great!"

"Ain't it though?" Stanley beamed, cranking on Engine 51's steering wheel until she was pointed towards the main dirt road leading into the fire. Chet made himself busy by turning on her sirens and blasting the air horn to scatter all the newstrucks out of the way.

::Mike, hold on. We're coming.:: he wished mentally.

The river beneath the lake dam's water felt icy on his skin. At least, the part that wasn't exposed to the air and being burned alive. Mike Stoker kicked his way out from under the flaming pine tree and let the flow of water take him. He drifted. Once, after an endless while, his lips touched the surface and he sucked in a badly needed breath of hot air from inside the curl of a soggy elbow, to lower its ambient temperature to the point where it wouldn't choke him. ::Is this my T-shirt?:: Mike thought as something white tangled around his wrist. With a shock of horror, he realized that it was the skin of his own left forearm, degloved and dangling around his fingers. It was as soft as silk and was a faintly transparent blue in the orange flame glow. With a jolt, Mike peeled out of his fireman's shirt and wrapped it around his scalded arm as the current carried him downstream and into the heart of town.

As yet, there wasn't any pain. None at all. That fierce, ugly pressure in his abdomen had gone.

But then he felt a sharp jerk to his right ankle. Mike flailed at the surface of the water, fighting for more air. He looked down and saw that a leather waist belt was bound cruelly around his numb ankle. The other end was tied to one of the wrists of the arsonist who was just awakening at the same pace as Mike Stoker.

Panicking, the half conscious engineer lashed out, trying to kick the face of Blair Todd away from his legs. He was negatively rewarded for struggling. Blair stabbed a swiss army knife clear through Stoker's free foot through his shoe as it kicked downward. Mike screamed.

Todd clawed his way up Stoker's body in the water to reach the top for air while his victim was still paralyzed with agony. He, too, began to gasp desperately for more internal breathing room. His insanity made him continue to press his attack on the engineer."Stop fighting me, if you want to live, Fireman. Or I'll gut ya n-"

Stoker sucked in a solid deep breath and purposely dove straight down into the depths of the river,  
trying to drown Blair. He felt the knife blade get pulled out of his foot. Another blow to his thigh came, a sharp deep bite, just inches from his groin. He had been stabbed again. Instantly Mike stopped flailing. ::Oh, that's so close to a femoral artery.:: He slapped Todd's hands away from the impaled knife and curled his head and both of his hands around its handle to keep the mad man from yanking it out and tearing the large vessel inside of his leg into shreds. ::I'll die in minutes, if he manages it.::

Stoker began to cooperate instantly when he felt Blair snatch him by the hair and kick upwards back towards the river's brightly lit surface. Shock began to set in both men. But the instinct to breathe was still as strong as ever once their heads punched back up and out into the air. Todd and Stoker both treaded water weakily. They saw hypoxia stars in their eyes while they recovered from near suffocation. Shadows loomed close in the noon day smoke.

Mike suddenly recognized where they were, near a concrete dock edge next to the local church. The day before, Gage and he had driven by the elegant old place on their way to see the fire horses.  
"Why are you bringing me here?" he asked dully of Blair.

"So you can apologize directly to my wife, Fireman! Her wake was right in there in front of the holy altar. Don't you remember? You were there! I seen-ed ya."

"No, I've never b- I'm -" Mike broke off, very afraid that anything he said further might tip off a murderous rage that he couldn't block any more. Stoker stayed curled up protectively around his knifed leg as Todd hefted him up onto the landing along the riverbank and up the church steps. He was dragged into a little garden only yards away from the approaching roaring forest fire coming down from the ridge above. The churchyard was full of gravestones. One of them was still fresh earth, and sprinkled with dried,  
dead flowers.

"Meet my wife's new bedroom, Fireman! Why didn't you get her out of the house before the roof came down on top of her? Rescuing someone does no good at all after she's dead." Blair murmured at him, his eyes half blinded by tears and soot. He tied his end of the belt to a wrought iron fence in a couple of viscious jerks. Mike felt the blade's edge grind against his femur in white hot surges. ::Don't let it move!:: he shouted mentally. Stoker gasped, keeping both hands tight and still around the knife's buried handle. He could feel his heart's deep pulse's throb against it. ::So close to death!::

"Her name was Louise, Fireman. You sang over her coffin! The Old Rugged Cross. You and your disgusting baritone warble. Why did you profane my wife with your voice?!"

Stoker opened his eyes once the incredible pain dulled down to a managable bruise like ache. He saw that some of the sun and smoke dessicated blooms on the grave were purple and yellow. "Violas?" He took a ghost of a chance to turn his hostage situation around. He started talking. "Louise loved violas.. I remember now, mister. Why doesn't she have a cross over her grave yet? You're Baptist, right?"

"There wasn't time. I ... I wasn't ready to order and have one made! I was crying so hard I couldn't eat, or sleep. But then the coroner called and said we had to bury her to make room for the others coming into the county morgue. The state buried her quick, because I was found not fit to handle it."

A wild desperate hope filled Stoker's mind. "Then let's build one for her. Together. I can't pray over anyone unless they have a head stone or a cross. I have to save you from your fate. Or I'm not a man of the cloth..." he lied, in a desperate ploy for control.

Blair Todd's delicate madness sent tears into his eyes.. "Oh, ohHHH H H... are...y- you're the Padre? How could I have made that kind of mistake?! I could have sworn up and down in the woods that you were wearing that hateful light blue and the badge of a firefighter. I thought you were one of the ones that let my wife die."

Stoker looked down at his own soaked bloody T-shirt, ever grateful for the dressing he had made for his burned arm out of the uniform shirt. "I..I forgot my black coat in the vestibule tonight, so shocked I was, to find a fire burning outside of my very own church. I went outside to see how bad it was."

Todd gurgled and turned colors. "Forgive me, Father... I.. I created that hateful pyre.. I... It's those evil, devil spawned firemen! I have to kill them all for not saving my Louise. I got at least one of them so far. Shot him right dead. I even got one of their beasts, too. A black one!" Blair spat.

::Not Gage.:: Stoker thought desperately. ::Oh, please, Johnny. Don't you be dead!::

Black mud and fire soot was staining Todd's face and hands, all except for the clean streaks that fresh tears were leaving as they fell down his cheeks. Mike opened his eyes and saw that Todd was lying face down on top of his wife's mounded grave, swimming in the dead flowers and dust, utterly lost inside of his heart and mind's deep agony. Something about him was off physically.  
Todd's strength was flowing away even faster than his victim's.

Stoker's head spun in the fire heat. He didn't have much time left before he lost consciousness due to his earlier internal damage and his still seeping stab wounds. He threw on a mix of Cap at his most annoyed during a lecture, and the memory of a soap box bum he once met behind the station who was preaching at the top of his lungs in the alleyway. "What's your name, son? It's not too late to repent!"

"Blair Todd, husband of Louise Mary Todd, like Abraham Lincoln's long ago, fair, and pretty wife. But it's too late, Father. Ain't I d*mned to the depths for what I've been doing?" he sobbed.

Mike's eye fell on a jumbled mass of red wood and chrome lying in the street just outside of the church yard.

It was the shattered remains of the horse drawn fire engine's chassis. Tangled in part of the black harness traces, Stoker recognized his H.T. radio. It was partially wrapped in leather reining, snagged around the main pull shaft.

He could not believe his luck. "Blair.. listen to me.." he gasped. "We can still do it. We can still make that cross for your w- for Louise.. Look. On the road. There's just the thing.. Red wood and shiny fancy silver chrome."

"That's firefighter stuff!" Todd snarled.

"No, that's legal loot. Because it was theirs and now it's destroyed. Let's make her a heavenly decoration! Now, look at me. I can't walk anymore, but you can.. Go get that long carved bar with the silver tips. That shaft will make the prettiest cross arms. And we can use some of that black leather strapping to tie those two pieces together to make her a right proper cruxifix."

"I can't, Father..." Blair whimpered. "I'm too ashamed of what I've done to you. I done stabbed yer foot and leg. You're gonna die. And then I'm going to H*ll for killing a man of G*d. I know it in my bones..."

"Not if we finish building your wife's grave marker. A selfless act like that's worth some merits, Blair. A lot of them. Because you still love her." Mike whispered deliriously, beginning to shiver. He felt himself begin to drift away.

"...really?..." Todd whimpered.

Stoker grunted and pinched himself around the knife back into wakefulness. "Oh, yes. Go get those wagon pieces. I'll show you what I'm talking about!" Mike encouraged him, just as building pain from his partially scorched arm began to lock out his voice.

Blair's head lifted from the dirt, revealing a snot smeared cheek. "Ugh.. I'll go g-get some." he said dully.

Blair began to crawl towards the street and the smashed, horse drawn fire engine.

It was only then that Mike saw the pink snake that seemed to be trailing down by Blair's feet. The long coil dragged in the dirt and over the asphalt, twitching. It began to get smeared with red.

Stoker startled horribly. It wasn't a snake or a worm. Todd had been eviserated by a sharp branch from the falling tree. ::Those are intestines?!:: Mike started to gag. Uncontrollably.

Nausea and sharp smelling vomit filled Mike's physical world as he denied reality protectively to keep from fainting. Stoker began to beg over and over again in his head. ::Oh, please Blair Todd. Don't see the radio. Don't hear it. Don't recognize it. It's just junk. A wreck. A shattered wagon part. Puke. I'm going to vomit!::

Mike felt his head sink lower and lower to the ground where he sat against the twisted fence to which he had been tied, as raw stomach acid spilled out of his mouth.

Light began to fade.

Photo: Cap, looking strained in full turnout.

Photo: Gage supporting a pale Mike Stoker's head.

Photo: A fire horse in harness, screaming.

Photo: An H.T. radio on the ground.

Photo: A hand on fire.

Photo: A brush fire rolling down a slope.

Photo: A car melted to slag.

Photo: A wrought iron gate on fire.

Photo: Bubbles underwater.

Photo: Violas on a gravestone.

Photo: Engine 51 racing into smoke.

Photo: A distant brush fire on a hillcrest.

From: patti keiper pattik1 Sent: Saturday, August 12, 2017 8:35 PM Subject: The Gathering

Craig Brice opened up the door to the bright, sunny psych ward patient room reluctantly, afraid to make any noise. "Karen? I got here as fast as I could." he whispered, peering around the door.

"Oh, Craig.." Overstreet sobbed, reaching out both arms to him from where she sat propped up on the bed with loose and tangled, long hair.

"I know what happened." Craig rushed over and took her into his arms, kissing her passionately. "How are they treating you?" he asked, sliding into the bed next to her so he could wrap up around her protectively.

Karen sighed wetly as she felt him place his chin gently on top of her head in the gentle way that she liked. "Like I'm a bomb about to go off. The doctors aren't so bad. They look at me like I'm a puzzle to solve, maybe. They're still hunting for all of the pieces. And all the nurses act like timid mice around me probably because I'm a doctor and because I'm their boss when I'm not-" she broke off, suddenly crying.

"You're not sick, you're sad." Craig replied. "If I didn't have a massive fire threatening my station's jurisdiction, I'd probably be smashing tons of things in my workshop just so I couldn't feel the true extent of my broken h-" he choked off, sharply feeling the loss of their daughter who should have been.

"Shh.. It's all right. I know it hurts bad. It's a black and horrible place there, Craig. I was stuck in it for a while before I was snapped out of it. Let's just stay and not move for a whole entire day." she cried, drawing up her bedsheet to soak away the tears flooding down her face. 'I'm here. We're both here. Together. I really.. need a long break, Craig." she sobbed.  
"I will get better, eventually, but it's really hard right n-".

"Karen? Will you marry me? " Brice's face was trying to hide how afraid he was of the words he was voicing in a quavering whisper. He sucked in a big breath and held it.

Overstreet's mouth fell open in a sad and surprised, "Oh!" just as the odd numbness was rising up again to take over. She instantly felt despair wash away. She began to smile faintly. "Craig, Yes. I do so very much want to marry you." she said in a rush, a new wave of tears in her eyes falling away clean.

Craig Brice smiled through smoky lines on his face. "And so I say to my very beautiful future wife.. I...I.."

Karen sighed heavily in relief. "Craig, you don't have to struggle to try and explain how you're feeling. I've always been smart enough to figure out what you really mean." she giggled.

Exhausted, Brice relaxed in her grip. "And I've been dumb enough to have taken so long to tell how much I really love you." he started sobbing, falling into a grief that he had been holding off for ages.

"I've always known, Mister Perfect Paramedic." Karen felt him melt around her and she did the same right back under the comforting warmth of his arms. "We have the rest of our lives to diagnose and try to fix ourselves. But later, Future Honey. I'm too tired to do much of anything right now. C-Can we sleep on it?"

"Sure, Doctor Dearest. Race you." mumbled Craig, snuggling tightly around her. He dropped off into a deep nap. Karen drifted, feeling contentment stealing over them both for the first time since the miscarriage. When the dreams came soon afterwards, they were no longer tortured for either sleeper.

Roy DeSoto, Dr. Brackett and Dixie McCall were in the Triage tent, but the only thing they were fielding were the three piping hot cups of coffee in their hands. Kel had a big fire of his own to deal with at the moment, in Roy, about Johnny.

"You can definitely believe what Mike told me about Johnny. He's only a little hurt. With a lot of sore muscles. And no permanent head injury. Nothing's ruptured or fractured." Kel told him.

"But what about that cut on his-"

"Forehead?" interrupted Dr. Brackett. "No stitches. A piece of tape only. What I want to do is plan ahead for what might be wrong with Mike Stoker. I want to know what kind of injuries or conditions we might expect on him when they bring him in."

"They found him?!"

Dixie McCall snatched away Roy's coffee protectively while he was gesticulating wildly, before he could burn himself on a spill.

"Not yet." Brackett said evenly.

Dixie wasn't talking. She was using her steady trademark hard as nails, you've-got-to-be-kidding-me stare to calm Roy down. "Dr. Brackett is anticipating setting up appropriate treatment and he's asking you what issues Mike might have, ahead of the game, Roy. We are in a Triage station, remember?"

DeSoto got embarrassed about the obvious. "Well, ..uh.. b-because he was missing and wasn't found near Johnny, they're thinking it might be a hostage situation. Vince says we're dealing with a sniper who's also a strong candidate for being the arsonist who started the fire." he said, licking dry lips.

"Drink your coffee." Dixie ordered. "You're so thirsty, you're shaking."

Roy downed his in one gulp.

"And.." Kel prompted.

"He might have smoke inhalation, defensive wounds, ligature trauma, gun shots..." Roy ticked off fearfully, holding his cup with two hands while Dixie refilled it from a thermos.

"And possible near drowning?" Kel asked.

"Drowning?!" Roy startled.

Dixie pointed a pencil back at the police scanner on broadcast behind them on a table. "The police dogs are tracking along a river bank currently. Didn't you hear it?"

"I do now." DeSoto said unhappily. "Why aren't people telling me what the police are doing around here in regular updates?!"

"Roy! Get a hold of yourself. You're a veteran paramedic who knows how to handle stress. Or so I thought." Dr. Brackett barked sharply. "Do I have to pull you from being in charge?"

"No. I-" Kel's appraising look from head to toe at him, immediately sobered DeSoto. "I'm fine. Really I am. I'm just very worried about Stoker. It's what firefighters do when one of us is missing." he said seriously.

"Hmmm." Brackett sighed, considering. "I get it, Roy. I guess I'm too lucky that Rampart's nice and safe from all of the bad guys and nasty fires. But think about tunnel vision and rein in your emotions enough today, so that they don't show on the outside. We've professionalism to maintain as providers even when we're billing people for their ambulance rides." he grinned.

Roy crushed the empty styrofoam cup he was still holding."Done. Let me get rid of this, and wash my hands. Then I'll help you guys set up." he said, taking a step forward.

"Hold it right there, Roy." Kel said, holding a hand against his chest.

"What? I thought you-"

"Give me your vest. I'm taking over for the next eight hours. Go out there and find your friend. He's the only firefighter I've never seen come through my emergency department. I want to make it a winning streak at the 100% visitation mark. I'll square it away with your incident commander myself."

"Thank you, Dr. Brackett. You have no idea how hard it was being stuck here when Johnny was in trouble."

"I have a good idea of how that was, watching you now." he said, raising an arch eyebrow.

Dixie handed Roy a backpack full of water, food and acute care medical supplies. "Do you need an air bottle? The chopper pilot left us three sets before he took off."

"I'll grab it." Roy promised, hurrying for the exit.

"Roy!" Kel shouted after him.

DeSoto turned around as he was putting on his scba gear and looping his mask around his radio's holder.

"If I'm going to see Mike Stoker for the first time, I promise you that he's going to get the best care that I can give, that's humanly possible."

"Appreciate it, doc." Roy said, fighting his emotion of relief, that he was back being part of a major first responder solution.

The two of them watched as he ran out of the tent and into thickening fire smoke haze.

Lt. Dennis Becker, Vince Howard, Jim Rockford, Angel Martin and Sara Butler were relegated to a brush fire staging area once a crown fire was spotted in the canyon, sending up fire tornados.

A grizzled smoke jumper explained the reason behind their mandatory pull back order. "It's too hot to go wandering around under there with our people or dogs. All those flames up in the tree tops have eaten away most of the oxygen pooling below them. A dead give away is that there is no more smoke at ground level. That's why the fire spires are so dark red. It's pure starved plasma. You won't burn to death first entering an area like that, you'll suffocate. It's no longer safe for any searches up the mountain."

"Then we'll search the edge of town as well as continuing along the water." Becker told the fire crew.

"It's at your own risk. Being near water won't save you from the lack of breathable air. Sign here."  
said the firefighter captain. "This absolves the fire department from being responsible for your department's operations under this Code Red alert."

Becker signed the slate with a flourish. "That's your man somewhere out there. Does it feel good abandoning him?" he asked sarcastically. He had the pleasure of seeing the man's ears flush.

"He knew the risks when he joined the department." replied the jumper stonily.

"Bah!" the lieutenant exclaimed as he left the field crew to their fire break work.

Vince Howard sighed mightily when Becker returned to his squad car. "I told you they couldn't follow us anymore."

"I'm not ready to give up on the arsonist or his victim!" Dennis bemoaned.

"I hear ya, Dennis. Are you allowing me and Sara to continue tagging along with you and your people?"  
asked Jim.

"Hell, yes. Policemen aren't firefighters, but neither are they dumb enough to walk into danger. Consider that little speech of the brush crew's head as education on what to watch out for in the fire. If we see red flames, we head up wind, until all flames fall back into normal combustion orange color. I wasn't born yesterday." Dennis grumbled.

"That's why I like you." Rockford grinned. "I knew when you busted me for the twentieth time in my youthful years, that you were good people."

Angel Martin chuckled. "Those don't count. Most of those were minor charges as a juvenile delinquent."

'Shut up, Angel. My girl likes convicts." he teased Sara.

"So let's go catch one." Butler challenged all the men. "He's still running free and doing terrible things somewhere out there."

Chet Kelly, Hank Stanley, and Marco Lopez were surprised when Roy DeSoto ran up to where Engine 51 was finishing up getting restocked.

"Roy? What's going on?" Cap asked succinctly. His tone suggested a questioning doubt about his appearance seeming like he was going AWOL.

"I've been saved by the doc. He cut me loose to obey my first calling. I was getting too squirrelly, they said. Let's go find Mike, Cap. I'm far past sick of waiting for something to happen."

"We're in the same camp there!" Hank agreed.

The others hurried to board the Ward La France.

"What about the squad?" Marco asked DeSoto. "It's stocked, too."

"I've got a mini one with me." Roy replied, patting the hospital trauma pack that he had received from Dixie. "I'm all set."

"Okay, the last police search point was here." he pointed to the map he had laid out on the Engine's front passenger seat. All of that red is firestorm. No entry."

Chet Kelly didn't look happy. He shared it, too. "Isn't that the area where Johnny was found?"

"Yes." Hank answered. "But the police searchers are convinced that whoever this maniac is,  
he took Mike with him on his escape from the fire. We know a few things. The man recently lost his wife. She's buried here in the church yard in town next to the river. Now the last clear scent trail the dogs had before they were pulled back was here." Stanley pointed. "At a low spot where a huge burning pine tree fell and burned to a pile of ash. If Stoker were smart, he'd take to the river because it's flowing upwind and into safety. That's where we'll concentrate our search."

"What? Just the four of us?" Chet wondered.

"We'll have the police department with us. They say they need expert eyes on the lookout for crown fires or fire devils over airless pockets. The brush crew had to give up the mutual escorting assignment due to emergency priorities. Saving the town comes first now, according to the state."  
Stanley explained.

"Bullshit." Kelly grumbled. "Isn't that just like the tax revenue paid bureaucrats to preempt a public servant's life, in favor of tax earning property. I'm sure Stoker would be very pleased that California's already given up on him. They spend more for search time on mudslide and avalanche victims, than they do for fire ones."

"That's because fire's a million times more lethal in so many ways. Wildfire survivability is next to nil for anyone caught in one." DeSoto said.

"Mike's not clueless when it comes to fires!" Chet insisted. "He wouldn't get caught."

Cap's face was grim. "Enough talk. More action. So now it's just us, Vince and a city lieutenant, along with a private investigator and two civilians to spot a new trail that might lead us to Mike.  
If we need backup, IC's promised a chopper or two if we spot anything to cover."

"That's plenty of people, Cap." Chet nodded eagerly. "There's not much territory down river between that dog scent dead end and the edge of town. Maybe... five hundred yards all total?" he said,  
peering at the map. "We can put one team on one side of the river and the other on this side."

"But we'll both be half strength then, in resources and manpower." Marco frowned.

"That's all we've got, man." Kelly said. "We're sure better than nothing."

Photo: Karen Overstreet with long hair in the hospital.

Photo: Craig Brice with a beard looking serious.

Photo: Drs. Brackett and Morton and Dixie McCall poring over a patient chart.

Photo: Rockford and Becker eye to eye by a payphone.

Photo: Angel Martin, close up.

Photo: Sara Butler, looking worried, close up.

Photo: Vince looking down.

Photo: Marco running with ropes and a life belt.

Photo: Roy DeSoto by trees, tense, in turnout and scba.

Photo: A close up of a gunman's weapon aimed at you.

**************************************************  
From: patti keiper pattik1  
Sent: Wednesday, August 30, 2017 9:06 PM Subject: Face Off...

The sound of chopping jolted Mike Stoker awake. He coughed, also hearing the roar of the wildfire as it slowly crawled toward the churchyard where he was being held hostage by Blair Todd the arsonist. He opened soot filled, red eyes which instantly began to burn in the heat of the air. They watered richly, and a bit more of his sight returned, allowing him to see through the murky smoke surrounding where he sat bleeding out into the dirt.

He saw that the sniper had found a hand axe and was clumsily cutting off pieces of black leather harness from two severed red and chrome tipped horse driving pull shafts.  
The man's face was a pale white which matched his bloodless lips due to shock caused by his impalement and disemboweling injury. "A-Almost got them, Father. And plenty of binding to tie them! How b-big of a cross would you say would be right for my Louise?" he trembled, hastily bundling up their tangled lengths into a ball so he could carry them while crawling. He didn't seem to notice that his knees kept slipping and losing traction on the pavement, because of his own eviserated colon and its hemorrhaging.

Stoker ignored the gory sight and squinted elsewhere. A few seconds later, he found what he was looking for. Mike saw that a bright red power button light was still on and glowing from his handy talkie. The radio was still going unnoticed by Blair, bundled inside of the leather straps the arsonist was cutting from the crashed horse drawn steam engine's horse rigging. "Those are fine, Blair. Bring them to me ... and we'll get started on building, okay?" he said groggily.

Todd panted, only half conscious himself, as he looked back across the road to where he had ankle tied his victim to the wrought iron fence. " I could go...go.. into the c-church and get one of them new fangled gold ones from your altar! Wouldn't that be better, Padre?"

Stoker waved a weak hand at his assailant, gasping deeply, to stay conscious. ::He won't make it back if he tries. He's gonna pass out long before he gets there, and then I won't have my radio brought close enough to where I can reach it.:: He carefully pulled a heavy rock from the flower bed near him and leaned it on top of his stabbed foot to slow its bleeding. He barely stifled a scream from the pain it caused once the weight settled.  
::There's no way I'm going to be able to lift that up again. That took everything I had to move it. But it's doing its job.:: he thought as all throbbing slowly disappeared from the first stab wound into blissful numbness. "Don't be vain, Blair. Louise never liked gold." he guessed, seeing the wink of a silver ring still on Todd's finger. "Those pieces you have right now are fine enough for her. They're humble, but bright."

"...right... right you are, Father." Blair whimpered dryly. "I hear you. These will do."  
he squirmed, getting inch by inch closer to Stoker with his burden of junk and the hidden radio.

Stoker could barely hear him over the roar of the flames. Mike flopped back against the fence and waited for Todd to return to him. Mentally, he also tried gauging the exact time they had left before the forest fire caught up with them. ::We're upwind. But that won't last. Not if a conflagration forms overhead. Then the fire will burn in all directions, in spite of the prevailing breeze.:: "Hurry.. Mr. Todd. Louise can't wait any longer. She deserves to get to Heaven as soon as possible."

'I'm coming as f-fast as I can. So shut up about that! Keep on praying for my wife! It's your job to take care of her s-soul, preacher man." said Todd, a little stronger in his fear as he dragged himself towards Mike and the new grave again. "I'm right here, Louise! With the Padre! You won't be alone down there for long!"

That crazed plea worried Mike Stoker and sent a deep chill down his spine. ::Does Todd have a new gun on him now? Is he planning on suicide after killing me first?:: All Stoker knew, was that he didn't have any more strength left to fight off Blair if he decided to attack him again. He bent his head over the hilt of the knife embedded in his thigh, and let himself give up physically, on the outside. His badly scalded arm felt like it was on fire now. ::Good. The nerves in my arm are still alive even though it's been peeled like an onion.:: He curled tightly around the pain, but he did not let it smother his awakening sense of hope. A dull moan escaped his lips in his agony.

"That's it, Father. Pray for her eternal life! And ours. I don't care if I die now. Not if she's saved first. And I know you won't mind dying, too, in the fire. Because you're a good man!"  
Blair laughed, both crazed and weak with pain. "There's no chance of a forever death for you."

Stoker began to shiver violently as his own shocked condition worsened, no matter how hard he fought it. Mike Stoker tilted his head and looked through the lock of dirt caked hair that was casting over his bowed face. He feveredly assessed Blair's progress. ::Won't be long now. Then we'll see who's really in charge here.:: he thought sharply, ignoring the morass of misery in his body.

He could almost hear the scrape of the handy talkie's metal buckle and leather casing getting pulled along the steaming asphalt already.

Mike dismissed what he thought he began hallucinating over the crackling roar of the wildfire;  
the faint, high pitched, excited baying of a bloodhound...

Jim Rockford watched Vince Howard and Dennis Becker run after the dog handler who said that Hoover had finally caught an active scent. "So they go charging willy nilly into town, throwing all caution to the wind anyway?" he said incredulously from the thick cover of hedge. "There's a shooter out there!"

Sara Butler peered through the leaves next to him, watching the same sight. "I'm sure they know what they're doing. They're cops, Jim."

"Pretty stupid ones if you ask me. At best, that dog'll get shot first instead of them. Now how cruel is that? Okay... Come on,... we'll dutifully sneak on in after them then. But only from inside of this good cover." he said, waving his revolver at the dense bushes hiding them from open view. "Angel, it's not too late to change your mind. Why don't you blow this pop stand before all the popo poo starts hitting the proverbial fan?"

Martin, shook gray soot and some burning embers quickly out of his curly hair. "Am I a man, or am I a chicken?"

Jim's eyebrows finally crooked as he considered that in amusement.

His streetwise buddy caught his light look. "No, don't answer that. The truth really hurts, so I'm going to use our little adventure here, to burn a few of those pesky, cowardly feathers off, if I may."

"Suit yourself. Stay behind me or you might get another hole in the head to go along with all the rest of your other ones." Rockford teased. But then he put on his game face and got back into the hunt.

"Very funny. I happen to know that you're an excellent shot, Jimmy Boy. I keep faith in you every day."

"Just so long as I pay all my debts. Is that how it works, huh?"

"Hey, we're friends! Practically soul mates."

"Maybe with my wallet." Rockford grumbled, not happy with anything presently going on in the local neighborhood.

"Sorry. My ex-bookie tendencies have yet to fade."

"It may be my marksmanship that you don't have to worry about, but have you considered theirs at all?" Jim countered, gesturing to the three police officers taking point behind Hoover the hound. "I don't think being in a fire fits their bailiwick well. See?" he nodded as Dennis Becker tripped over a log hidden under dried leaves and brush. Vince Howard just barely caught the lieutenant's gun hand to prevent an accidental weapon discharge. "They're getting tired. So are we."

"Speak for yourself." Sarah said, "So far, this has only been a very short mountain run with some... added bonus ...nature bling." she puffed, jogging to keep up with the men.

Angel scoffed. "She calls an out of control forest fire, 'A little bling'. Way to go Romeo Rockford.  
You sure know how to pick em."

"I'm a raging optimist, Mr. Pessimist. Try not to enjoy all that negativity all in one place." Butler chuckled, catching up to her date.

"I promise I'll try harder when the shooter finds us, Little Lady." he grinned back.

"I'll find him first. Right between the eyes." Jim muttered."He'll never see it coming."

"That better be your fists you're talking about, Jim. Fire only in self defense." Dennis Becker shouted back, brushing ash and fried cobwebs off of his expensive trousers vehemently. "Thanks Vince. I think we should slow down a bit."

"Good call." Howard nodded back. "A slip is a slip. But that could have been very ugly."

"My gun's safety's always on. Something a certain private eye could learn from." he smirked, not looking back at the three civilians trailing behind.

Jim stopped in his tracks and made a face. When Sara wasn't looking, he flicked over his revolver's safety setting with a click, biting his lip in self chastisement.

"We've got company!" hollered Marco from the front of Engine 51 where he was posted as a look out while the others decided where to meet up with police on their search for Mike Stoker.

Captain Stanley looked up and saw Vince Howard with an unfamiliar L.A.P.D. plaincloths lieutenant, a uniformed dog handler, and three civilians in smoke stained clothes. "Are these victims for triage?" he asked Howard.

"Been there. Done that, Captain." Jim quipped, taking a quick seat on the engine's side runner board with relief. He also took the time to empty out the bullets of his gun so he could clean soot and dust that had accumulated inside of its chambers. "Mind if we sit down?"

Hank extended a gloved hand. "Feel free. There are water bottles in a cooler underneath the chassis. Help yourself. Grab one for the dog, too, officer."

"They're S and R volunteers. We're a little short handed right now. They're authorized and all three have signed off properly." Vince shared, patting his pocket where the forms were folded up and stashed.

"Can I see those?" Roy asked. "I'll add them to the paperwork stack back in Staging."

"I appreciate you saving me the trip." Howard grunted.

"How are they doing now? Medically speaking. They were first aided a few hours ago."

"They're fine. A bit argumentative between themselves perhaps." Vince shared.

"We're friends." Angel shot back.

"If you say so." Vince rejoined, not turning around. He continued his report. "After the dog drinks up a few gallons, we'll be returning to back along the river. She's found a scent trail."

"We're going with you." Hank latched on eagerly.

"The more, the merrier." Vince agreed. "Only one thing though. That bright red fire engine might make you fellas sitting ducks for the sniper if you drive it on town streets."

"That's bullet proof glass over the cab. And solid steel eveything else. If we stay inside when cruising, we'll be safe enough." Cap shared. "Isn't drawing out the arsonist what we want?"

"Not that way." Howard said, no nonsense. "If anybody's going to offer up be a target, it'll be us. We've got the proper gear to handle it."

Chet Kelly took in a deep breath. "Criminals are your thing, I guess."

Marco Lopez finished handing out water to their visitors. "And the fire's ours. Let's hope we don't get to play in the sandbox with those two anytime soon."

"Just so you know, officers. All of us are going to jump head first into anything it takes to get Mike back." Hank Stanley replied.

'We're duly warned." Howard smiled. Even Dennis Becker grinned.

"Mutual aid it is." Jim Rockford nodded.

"Go, team!" Sara celebrated.

Bark! said Hoover the blood hound over her water bowl.

Blair Todd kicked over the leather straps pile to Mike. "You untangle those. I'll start digging a post hole for one of these." he said, holding up the beautiful drive shaft pieces with one hand. His other one was looped in his entrails, trying to keep any more from pushing out the tear in his lower abdomen. "AhHH, I'm so sore, Father. Why?"

"You're hurt." Mike Stoker told him, slowly inserting his good hand underneath the leather reins and into them, until his fingers found the volume button. He turned down the sound to zero and then fumbled around until he found the push talk button. He pressed it."You should be at the hospital, Blair Todd. Not here at my church. The fire's going to burn it down soon."

"I'm not going anywhere, Padre." Blair gasped, still kneeling on his wife's grave and trying to dig a hole with the axe. "I won't leave my wife. Not any more."

"Look.. If we don't find shelter soon, there's not enough water in the world that will be able to put out the flames before they kill us both." Stoker said,  
fighting like mad to not look down at his radio to see if his voice was getting relayed. "The air will drop."

"What?" Todd sighed, not understanding.

Mike abbreviated. "Air drop. Now. I mean, the temperature's going to climb hotter than we can stand, Blair Todd. We can't just sit here in the parking lot next to the graveyard."

"We can! And we will! We've got Louise's grave marker to make! So shut up!"  
shouted Todd. "One more word outta you and I'll blow your head off!"  
he raged, his rising insanity finally coming to the foreground. "Even if you are a man of God!"

Mike Stoker wisely shut up when the muzzle of Todd's hidden Midnight Special was suddenly pointed directly at his head. He tried not to think about the blood dripping down the trigger, making Blair's finger start to slip as he trembled and continued to make crazed threats.

L.A, County Headquarters became galvanized instantly. Mike Stoker's transmission was shunted into a recording mode and given a priority patch to law enforcement.

Sam Lanier, the City of Carson''s dispatcher under Battalion Seven's district, was the fireman who first heard Mike Stoker's desperate call out on the off duty band on scan.  
"Brent, listen to this. Doesn't that sound like Mike Stoker?"

"It sure does. Holy-" muttered his partner at the SCU panel.

Sam nodded agreement.  
He activated an emergency patch to the Thief's Ridge Fire's network, sharing the live transmission and the first moments of the call equally, with both the police and fire department incident commanders at the blaze. He began his relay with a series of county wide tones and an overriding hail. ##This is L.A. County to Battalion One, and Police Chief Nine. A live transmission being received has been confirmed as coming from our known missing, off duty fireman. Repeater tower shows the call as coming from Retribution Street in Stoneview Heights in your fire area. Switch to Tach 3 to hear our recording.##

Sam waited until he had his two I.C.'s acknowlegements before he linked their frequencies to Mike Stoker's. ##Firefighter is no longer speaking but mentioned needing air drop support for immediate fire at a church parking lot location. He is under active criminal duress. The adult male suspect may have a weapon.##

##Send Copter Ten to 1417 Retribution Street. There's only one church in town!##  
came Battalion One's snapped out order.

##Helicopter Ten copies, we've a full reservoir. E.T.A. Eight minutes.## replied the chopper pilot.

##Stand by for the initial playback.## L.A. told them.

##We're ready.## answered Battalion One. The burly fire chief nodded at his law enforcement counterpart standing on the hill on the other side of Staging.

The whole conversation Mike Stoker transmitted moments earlier to L.A., was finally heard.

"Blair Todd." grumbled the police I.C. "We have you now." He lifted his radio to his mouth. ##L.A., we'll take it from here.##

##10-4, P.D.9. At 15:01.## Sam answered. ##The firefighter is not responding. Will continue hailing HT 51.##

"Cap! It's Mike!" Chet shouted, practically ripping his jacket pocket as he grabbed for his radio. "On our HT!"

With bated breath, the whole group of firefighters, police officers and Jim Rockford and his party, listened to the tense transmission Stoker was airing.

Roy spoke first. "He doesn't sound good. Something's wrong with him past being a hostage. Don't you hear the way he's breathing?"

"Shh.." Hank shushed, until the gun came out and silenced their engineer's clues.

Then only the mad man raged, his threats ringing in their ears over the radio.

Dennis Becker looked up quickly at the dog handler. "Let her go after him."

"What?" startled the canine cop.

"I said, let her loose, officer. And that's an order!" the lieutenant bellowed.

The dog man obeyed. Hoover lunged mightly. Then she was freed from her leash.  
The tone of her baying intensified into urgent barks and yelps, leaving no doubt behind in the humans that she knew where her target had gone. She splashed along the water's edge, casting away from the fire and strongly upwind, towards the edge of the evauated town.

"Follow her!" Vince Howard shouted, beginning to run.

"Down river, huh. That was smart of him. There was air to breathe, and water to cool things off a bit." Jim glanced at Sara and Angel. "I think I know where that church is. Remember that store window full of TV sets, Sara? When we first heard about Todd and then got my car all shot up?"

"Yeah."

"I think that church Stoker's talking about is right down the block from there. I remember seeing a steeple silhouetted against the fire while we were hauling arse outta there. It's gotta be the same one. Come on, over this hill's a short cut!" he beckoned, still keeping tightly under the shadow of bushes, shrubs and trees.

"But Jim! That way's going back into the fire!" Butler yelled.

The detective didn't hear her, so intent he was at catching his perpetrator.

Swallowing courage, she and Angel Martin ran after him, into the smoke.

At the Engine, Marco Lopez noticed. "Cap, did you see that? They just-"

"Let em do their own thing. They signed paper." Hank told him. "Whatever they do away from us now is entirely their business, legally."

"Are we going there, too?" asked Kelly.

"Yes. Hit the reds. We're not slowing down for even one second!" Stanley shouted. "Roy, you listen in on that radio. Maybe Mike'll tell us more about the fire moving in on him."  
DeSoto snatched it out of Chet's hand and plastered it to his ear. "He's still breathing, I can hear some wheezes around that nut case's shouting."

Engine 51 roared off of the park road and onto the main drag leading into Stoneview Height proper. "Head for that steeple! See it?" Kelly guided Marco, who was driving while Cap contacted I.C.

"L.A., Engine 51. We're responding to the site of our man's transmission, Code R! Please respond an immediate rescue squad and ambulance to stage three blocks away from that address, until the police department clears us to enter!" Stanley said.

##10-4, Engine 51. At 15:04.##

Photo: A burning forest glowing orange.

Photo: Mike Stoker looking apprehensive, leaning over.

Photo: A man with a gun pointed directly at your face.

Photo: The gang looking scared in turnout.

Photo: Dennis Becker, not happy.

Photo: Angel Martin, displeased and uncertain.

Photo: Jim Rockford, talking to Angel seriously.

Photo: Sara Butler looking frightened.

Photo: Sam Lanier at work at his control console at L.A.

Photo: A handy talkie lying on a white surface.

Photo: A roadway about to be covered by a wildfire.

From: patti keiper pattik1  
Sent: Wednesday, September 6, 2017 7:46 PM Subject: Nut Juice "Jim!" shouted Sara, as they rushed through the underbrush and down to an alley which led directly to the only church in town. "Please tell me that you've got a plan." Doubt appeared on Butler's face for the first time since their whirlwind date began.

Rockford immediately stopped in his tracks and faced her with a grand smile.  
Embers from the approaching wildfire snapped and popped around them like fireworks on the fourth of July, but neither paid them any heed. "Okay. Total honesty. I usually fly by the seat of my pants." he winked at her.

"Isn't it invigorating?!" Angel Martin praised as he hurried by in his nervous,  
timid way, to take the lead ahead of them to their uncertain destination near the sniper and his victim. "Let's just get this over with so I can go home. Stay hidden, and you'll be fine, Sara. Works for me."

"What if he sees us coming?" Butler asked, insisting again for a little more caution by the scared tone in her voice.

Rockford remained still, one eye on their target area a block away."Sara, I've never been here, but I remember the layout of this church and its ground like the back of my own head. I was driving on pure adrenaline while we were getting shot at. That's the perfect chemical cocktail to suddenly gain total recall of your surroundings. I know exactly where I'm headed."

Martin saw that the others weren't keeping up, and his brief courage fled. He doubled back to them. "Did your life flash before your eyes, Jimmy Boy? I never have that kind of luck. I always get myself shot and pass out long before it happens."

"Yeah." Rockford told him. "But you always manage to get winged in an arm. I always catch one in same d mned foot every time. It's why I walk with a limp. No, I didn't see my life laid out in gory detail. He was a horrible shot. I was more mad than terrified. The guy was an idiot for taking pot shots at the sweetest sportscar known to man. It should be a cardinal sin to shoot up a gold Firebird, for Pete's sake! If he's stupid enough to do that, it's practially guaranteed that he's not watching his back. He's still concentrating on doing Neanderthal things like tormenting that poor firefighter. Aw, hon." he said, hugging Sara when tears suddenly appeared in her eyes."I"m not gonna put you in danger. That's the farthest thing from my mind."

"That's because getting revenge on that jerk is your first priority."  
declared Angel. "My kind of guy. You see, Sara? Jim's teaching me to learn how to live up to my first name for real. In the past, I haven't exactly been a saint."

"Neither have I. Far from." Rockford admitted, "I've always been mostly a dare devil who always has the worst luck."

"Not when it comes to getting the bad guys. Jim always wins, Sara.  
You can count on that." Martin told her seriously. "Rockford's more bulldog and Doberman than that hound dog down there tracking the sniper."

The sound of a toppling, burning pine tree tore them out of their mini huddle quickly. They were forced by a curtain of raining embers to flee the woods, into the protection of the open concrete alley behind the church.

They fetched, backs up against a row of silver metal garbage cans, next to the church's brand new congregation dumpster. Jim's face hardened instantly when they suddenly heard the sniper's voice echoing around the alleyway, yelling and screaming at Mike Stoker.

"I can't let you go, Father. You're my wife's only hope of heavenly salvation!" roared Blair Todd. "Quit nodding off! Keep working on that cross like I told ya, and I'll finish up this hole for it."

"He's digging up his wife?! That's crazy for you."  
Rockford gestured at Angel and Sara to duck down behind the receptacles for concealment. "He might see our movement through the stained glass windows." Then he looked around for a bit. "I've got an idea. Here." he told them, quietly yanking off two of the dullest metal garbage can lids. "These aren't that reflective. We can use them as shields when we sneak up on him. They work really well against bullets."

Martin accepted his and passed off the second to Butler. "Isn't he cool? He's lying about not having a plan. This one's the best! I've seen it before."

"You have?" Jim did a double take, partially distracted at figuring out exactly where in the graveyard Todd was, by the bouncing sounds of his threats and continual raving. "You've followed me hunting armed bad guys before? We'll talk about that later, Angel." Rockford frowned.  
"Now tell her about the two way rock throwing distraction trick."

"It won't work." Martin tsk'd. "The fire's way too loud now. I can't even hear those approaching fire engine sirens any more. But I can see them." he said, pointing down into town to prove his point.

Three blocks away, Sara, Angel and Jim, saw Engine 51 park in the middle of a four way intersection, a safe distance away from any possible shooting range.

Rockford's eyebrows rose happily.  
"Ah, now that's better. Lady luck's on our side today. Why risk our own skins? We're not getting paid the big money to do it." Jim grinned, "You're right, Angel. Todd's expecting police and fire to show up in the area. How about we wait for the arrival of Dennis and his bunch, too, to really attract the arsonist's attention away from us? Then we'll make our move. There's no way in H*ll that he'll expect an angry middle aged man in a checkered suit, in his face."

"We beat the cops here?' Kelly wondered as he, Marco, Cap and Roy bailed out of the Ward La France.

"They're on foot, following a running dog. Of course they're slower." Hank told Chet.

"But.."

"But nothing. We still follow procedures, Chet. We don't enter the scene until it's Code 4 and cleared by police first. " Cap added. "Even if we want to go rushing in there with a stokes, come H*ll or high water,  
and are chafing all our shorts about it until the cows come home."

"There's nothing stopping us from setting up medically. Is there?"  
DeSoto asked. "We can use the engine to block any line of sight from the church."

"Do it." Cap nodded. "We're not going anywhere until we have Mike.  
This is tough, but we know he's alive, from this." he grumbled, holding up his H.T. that was still broadcasting every twisted word Blair Todd was spouting off at their engineer over the emergency patch priorty channel that L.A. had set up. "Set up for multiple victims. Stoker did tell us the shooter's hurt." Hank watched the expressions on his men gel into neutrality at that. "No," he answered. "We're not going to handle that guy directly for any treatment. We're too involved. Chopper Five's paramedic crew is going to, so we can concentrate on Mike's care exclusively."

Lopez was surprised. "I thought we couldn't do any medical on direct crew involved with a criminal."

Hank shrugged. "We're the closest. The size of this fire allows a few rules to go out the window. There are only so many of us to deal with people needing help. Roy, what do you need?" I'm just a waiting grunt like everybody else who's Fire, until the cops tell us it's safe to go in."

"My triage pack, the demand valve resuscitator, a burn pack, and plenty of saline. Oh, and the M.A.S.T. trousers. I think that dog handler said a tree fell on Mike and the shooter by the river. If he's got internal injuries, even wide open I.V.'s aren't going to be enough to stave off his shock. He sounded pretty weak over the radio transmission."

"What are his chances?" Stanley asked.

"I don't know, Cap, without seeing him first." Roy replied.

Hank swallowed his worry dryly. "I've called in four companies and that water drop crew to hold any wildfire flare ups away from us."

"Let's hope it'll be good enough." DeSoto sighed.

Johnny Gage had commandeered a wheel chair to get into the doctor's lounge and Dixie had volunteered to be the one to get him there. Her only condition for his getting out of bed was that his systolic pressure had to stay above 100. She smiled when he craftily dialed up his I.V.'s drip chamber to top aperature flow.

"I heard it, Dixie, but I don't feel any better, because I know Mike's got a gun pointed right at him."

Rocky, Jim Rockford's father, was sitting on the couch next to them, nursing a cold coffee in a styrofoam cup. "If that maniac wanted your firefighter friend dead, he would have been killed an hour ago. There's got to be something else going on between the two of them that we don't know about yet."

"What's to know, Mr. Rockford?" Johnny fussed.

"Uh, senior.." the bubbly old man kindly interjected.

"Sr..." Johnny amended. "...sir. Somehow this Blair guy thinks Mike's a pastor. Specifically, the one who was at his wife's burial service. Just how much longer can Stoker pull off that charade? In his condition, he's gonna mess up sooner or later and Todd's gonna see right through him."

McCall regarded the two of them thoughtfully. "I'm not so worried about that, as I am about whether or not Fireman Stoker can keep that handy talkie of his hidden. Don't they start to beep when their battery power runs low?" she asked.

Gage paled. "Oh, boy." he murmured, not liking his remembering that they did.

Jim Rockford had never liked being on the hunt. But having a nut case partially fixated on his dad, just because he survived a truck fire and was rescued by a fire department, rankled him way past the obsessively protective mark.

He had to end the threat. Now. It was something that Rocky, his father had taught him from a very early age. ::Well, I don't just end bad things that bother me or mine. I get even.:: he thought in a poor attempt to comfort himself. Already, the hair was rising up on the back of his neck.  
And it had nothing to do with the proximity of the approaching forest fire. The fact that his perpetual ulcers never healed attested to how many times Jim had to become predatory because of the nature of his occupation. ::Whatever happened to a private eye only having to snap a few pictures from a car on the sly to expose an illicit affair or two?  
Nowadays, I have to almost act criminal to catch my targets for clients.  
But who's my client now? Nobody! Here is my line of work at its most dangerous, and I'm not even getting paid!:: his over vigilant mind insisted.

Beside him, on her belly and crawling just as stealthily, lay Sara. She started laughing. "Your ears are turning red." she observed. "Penny for your thoughts." she offered.

Jim exploded, blowing off a lot of his built up tension. "It's not rocket science! I wanna catch this guy before he either kills someone or gets away." he hissed angrily.

Butler just blinked at Jim, after winking once at Angel. "If this is about money, and not having any to pay for your windshield, I'll float you a loan. My aunt left me a sizable-"

"Sara! That wouldn't be chivalrous at all! I'm a man and you're my date.  
Quit offering to foot the bill." Jim said incredulously.

"That is why you're putting your neck on the line, which I think, is acting kind of stupid." Butler said evenly, letting the fire smoke drift between their staring contest.

Rockford's mouth flopped open, but Angel's cracked into a fully delighted, spectator's grin.

Butler went on. "Why not let the cops catch him first? He's not going anywhere. We're completely surrounded by fire now." she said reasonably.

"We are?!" Martin quailed.

"Blind leading the blind. Angel, the fire department'll get us out of this.  
They make more money than I do even on my best day." Rockford frowned.  
But then he dipped his head and stopped creeping towards the church behind his held up garbage can lid. He chuckled. "Leave it to a woman to talk sense into a guy even when the world's burning down around his ears. You're right, Sara. I am acting impulsive, aren't I?"

"You mean, more than usual?" Angel smiled.

Jim just shot him a wounded look as his open heart was bared before his girl.

"Sorry." Martin replied sincerely. "I'll shut up now."

"All right, all right. You win, guys. I'll just stay right here and sit on my butt until this whole thing either pans out, when the cops catch Blair, or doesn't and the coroner gets called in for two body bags."  
Jim stated, crossing his arms resolutely in front of them.

"Body bags?" Butler finally croaked.

"Yep. One thing about nuts is that their shells crack with only the slightest amount of pressure. Do you really want me to do nothing when I'm the closest matching force solution to the problem down there? Stoker doesn't have all day to look pretty in those crosshairs. Todd's gonna off him. Because he's got nothing more to live for. Haven't you been listening?  
He's been saying as much." Rockford snapped.

That completely sobered his companions.

"Guess I'm not so dumb after all." Rockford grinned gently. "Let's go. Time's wasting. We stick to the original plan."

Mike Stoker's pain exhausted eyes remained locked to Todd's around the muzzle of the gun pointed at him, but his ears were ever attentive for the telltale rotor 'fwap' beat of an approaching water drop run. ::Come on Chopper Ten. Read my mind. It's not the fire I want you to dump on.::  
he thought wearily. ::I hope you spot me, and see what's going on here with this gun.::

"You're pretty quiet, Padre." Blair Todd said. "It's like you haven't even seen that I already got it done." he whipped a bloody hand behind him at his wife's grave.

There Mike saw a neat and tidy red and chrome metal cross, tied together with black horse reins, stabbed upright at the head of the burial mound. The crucifix suddenly doubled and tripled before Stoker's blurry eyes.

"Shouldn't you be praying now? I'm listening! Real good." Todd taunted,  
blinking sour sweat that was effecting his vision. "Pray for Louise's eternal soul so she can be conducted into Heaven like you said. She's still rotting in the ground!"

Stoker coughed wetly, and finally put out a challenge. "How sincere will I be with a gun pointed at my head, Blair? Prayers cannot be coierced, or they mean nothing to G*d." he said softly, finally closing his smoke aching eyes. It barely put a dent of relief in the white hot pain he felt washing up from his scalded forearm and hand. He took in a deep breath and waited for Todd to make a decision.  
::I either die, or I live. I'm so tired of fighting.:: Mentally, he gave up.

"Well?" came Todd's raspy voice. "I'm still waiting."

Mike didn't open his eyes. "With me now. Our Father, who art in Heaven."

"...Hallowed be thy name." Blair echoed, suddenly shaking in every limb. Tears began to drip down his gory face as grief suddenly sharpened. "Thy Kingdom come.. They will be done on Earth.." he sobbed,  
staring at Louise's final resting place. The gun began to sag in his grip towards the ground in his growing weakness.

"..as it is in Heaven." both men whispered.

Line after line of rich prayer flowed from their cracked lips and into the smoke that was slowly thickening about them in the churchyard.

"Forgive us the wrongs we have done.." Todd broke off, suddenly comprehending the words he was speaking. They began to show him the full extent on the error of his ways.

Mike Stoker raised his voice. "..as we forgive the tresspasses that others have done to us. Do not bring us to hard testing.."

A roar of a helicopter blasting by over the church steeple stifled all sounds of the fire like a bright benediction. Mike Stoker raised his hands up in the air before the gun Blair still held in exaggerated surrender, sending out a very clear message to the pilot in the air.

"..But keep us safe from the Evil One. Amen!" he shouted at the tearful Blair. "Go forth! And sin no more!"

A huge deluge fell from the sky. A water dump of many hundreds of gallons of ice cold lake water landed directly on top of Blair Todd and flattened him with the full force of its impact as it rained down noisily. Then it was gone and Todd fought to reach the gun that had bounced away from his fingers in the mud.

"A baptism, Padre?" he drooled bloody trails. "I'm ready to go. And you're coming with m-"

From out of the bushes, Jim Rockford leaped. He caught the sniper in a full tackle. They grappled in the slime, belly to belly. "Angel! Grab his gun and throw it into the river!" he grunted, wrestling fingers that were locked onto his face like a clamp.

"But- I hate guns!" Marin panicked.

"Just do it! If you don't touch the trigger, it won't go off!" Jim gasped,  
finally drawing his feet up and planting them against Todd's stomach,  
kicking him backwards. "Sara! Keep covering us with mine! Shoot him if he makes another grab before Angel does." Rockford yelled, scrambling to his feet to go tackle him again.

"I don't want to shoot you by mistake!" Butler shouted, scared.

"Do you two want this... lowlife... to shoot you?!" he gurgled, struggling like mad with Blair in a chest to chest grapple.

Angel shouted in fear and made a brave dash forward for the fallen gun.

Todd wasn't stopped by pain. He was long past that point. He punched Rockford in the face, stunning him. Jim fell and Blair crawled up on top of him in a mad scramble for his revolver. Blair's hand snaked out and landed on top of its grip before Martin's.

Angel began to simper and scrambled away backwards, knowing himself instantly in mortal danger. ::I am a dead man.:: he thought.

Jim Rockford lay moaning on the ground, half conscious, near by.

Todd's trembling gun levelled on the two of them and suddenly Sara's knees went weak. She could no longer aim. At all. ::Will it hurt more than the fire when I'm shot?:: her mind wondered.

Blair's finger began to tighten its bend beneath the gun.

Photo: A burning forest fire at night on a river bank.

Photo: A freeway sign being burned up by a brush fire.

Photo: Roy DeSoto running by pine trees.

Photo: Jim Rockford aiming a gun with Sara Butler cringing.

Photo: Mike Stoker close up, looking scared.

Photo: A man's midrift level of a hand holding a pistol.

**************************************************  
From: patti keiper pattik1  
Sent: Tuesday, September 12, 2017 2:38 PM Subject: Final scene... for Burning Water, Episode 58...

A shot rang out and caught Todd right between the eyes.

Sara screamed, startled, staring at her own weapon. But hers hadn't been the one to fire. She cocked its safety back on and dropped it at her feet in shock.

Blair collapsed with a fountaining hole in his forehead and landed face down on top of his revolver hand, neatly pinning it.

Vince Howard ran forward with his smoking Glock 34 still pointed at the downed sniper. He did not approach Todd. "Becker! Check him!"

"Where'd you drill him?" Dennis asked, reaching quickly to feet drag the arsonist away from the fallen gun.

"In the head. He was squeezing down on the trigger.  
I had no choice." the burly police officer replied.

Becker finished separating Todd from the revolver. Then he felt Blair's neck. "He's dead. That sits fine with me. Call in the fire department!" he shouted at the dog handler.

"Then today's problems are well and truly ended.." said Angel happily. He jogged over to Mike Stoker who was sitting sagged against the fence and very still. "I'll free your firefighter.  
That ankle looks like the circulation's been cut off."

"Don't move him while you're doing it." Dennis barked,  
collecting the criminal's weapon. "He's badly injured."

"Jim!" Sara shouted, unfreezing from horror. She rushed over to the P.I.'s side.

Martin crouched by Mike Stoker and moved the pile of horse reins off of his lap. The fireman engineer jolted awake and flung his arms up weakily in a warding off defense. Angel caught both of his wrists. "Whoa! Hold on, buddy. I'm a friend.  
I'm helping you out a little. I came with the police."

"They're here?" Mike croaked.

"Yes. Now give me that. You're gripping the radio so hard,  
that I can't get your fingers loose." Martin told him. "I'll call everybody in for ya. Then I'll do something about that blue foot of yours." Angel carefully started peeling away Stoker's grip on the H.T.. Stoker's burned hand was sticking to it and that made Angel almost sick to his stomach.

Mike cracked open swollen eyes. "The fire... It's too close."

"Tell me something I don't already know." said the Italian man. "The fire department's only a block away. I can see them. They'll break us out. Now shut up so I can call in the calvary!" Martin grimaced at the blood coating the push to talk button. He quickly pressed it. "To everybody in Fire Land! Your man's safe, but he's not that sound! There's another guy who got beaned, too. Send in everything you've got! You know where we are!"

Then Angel pitched it over his shoulder to land in the dust, ignoring the frantic dispatcher and fire department incident commander trying to hail him back. He dragged out a buck knife and cut away the leather belt that Blair Todd had been using to keep Stoker prisoner, from around his ankle.

Mike made a soft sound of pain that lanced through Angel's heart, as circulation returned right down to his numb toes. The injured firefighter passed out instantly, into Martin's arms.

"Hey, no. Don't do that. Don't do that!" Martin urged, catching him, so Stoker wouldn't fall. "I don't know what to do!"

"What's the problem?!" thundered Vince's booming voice.

"He fainted!" Martin yelled back. "Yhjuhyyyyyyyyy!"

The burly policeman snatched up Todd's weapon, disarming it. "Lay him flat, face up. Then tip his head back and hold it that way so he can breathe freely. I'll be right there!"

Dennis Becker looked up from making sure their scene was safe around them. "Looks like Todd was working alone! Go ahead!" he told Howard. "I'll go check out Rockford!"

Sara Butler had Jim's head in her lap, calling his name urgently,  
trying to wake him. Dennis crouched down next to her and felt the P.I.'s pulse. "It's there. Was he stabbed during the fight?"

"What?" Sara blurted out in confusion.

Becker pointed next to her at a bloody knife lying a short distance away from them.

Butler glanced at it, stunned that she hadn't noticed it before.  
Then her eye caught something. "Uh, I don't think so. That blood's dry. He was punched in the face from what I saw."

Dennis touched Jim's jawline where he saw a rising bruise above the pulse point he was monitoring.

The P.I. groaned, but didn't wake up.

"You're right. He just had his bell rung." he grinned. "He'll shake it off in a few minutes. This codger's tough as nails."

Butler immediately sighed in relief.

"I'll go help out Vince with our hostage victim. He sounds serious." Dennis told her.

Sara nodded and watched Becker jog over to Stoker's side.  
She could see Mike was beginning to breathe shallower and more rapidly in the thickening smoke. "He needs oxygen!" she hollered.

"We know." replied Vince, who was checking Stoker's bleeding around the impaled knife. "Paramedics are two minutes away. He's holding his own so far."

Angel was so stressed out, that he was babbling."I think that's the best looking dead body I've ever seen in my entire life, officer.  
Mr. Stoker, don't worry about that total loser who got us all into this mess. I promise you, he's already started pushes up the daisies."  
he blinked at Becker. "He hurt our best friend, Dennis. We should let him BBQ in his own fire."

"Nah, uh. He's evidence." Becker grinned tightly, wrapping up Stoker's stabbed foot that he had found underneath a slab of tipped rock. "The state'll get more relief money to help out Stoker and any other victims of the fire, if we have a clean criminal trail leading to his act of arson."

"And attempted murder." Vince said about Stoker's wounding attack.

Sara shook herself as her head began to clear from her adrenaline rush over Jim. "How does that second knife fit in?"

"I figured it out." Becker reached over and picked up one of Blair's hands. He showed off the underside of the inner palm. It was shredded with deep slices. "He must have been weak from being partially disembowelled.  
He lost dexterity and cut himself repeatedly while making that." he said,  
casting his head towards the handmade crucifix on Louise's grave. The black reins constructing it were brown with dried blood. It was the same color and matched the blade Dennis had spotted earlier.

"He didn't know what he was doing to himself?!" Angel asked, horrified.

"It's possible to become super human and not feel anything much pain wise when you're dying. I've seen it before." Howard answered. "Mike Stoker's still reactive to his. A good sign." Vince shared. He had finished immobilizing the knife handle sticking out of Mike's leg with dressings from his tactical pack."But this stable plateau of his won't last long. The man needs an immediate surgeon for this foreign body and his burned arm, a.s.a.p.."

Johnny Gage was hollering at the top of his lungs on the pay phone. "What do you mean that's all he said?! You've got to know more!"

L.A. answered coolly. ##The civilian on Fireman Stoker's channel keyed off and hasn't broadcasted again. You know as much as I do, Fireman Gage.##

"All right. Thank you for taking my call, Sam. Yes, I know you won't be able to call me back with better news later on. Sorry for tying up your switchboard.  
Bye." He hung up the phone.

Rocky was just as frustrated and irritated as Johnny was. "Did I hear that right? That two men were hurt at the church, and one other guy was dead?  
Who's the dead guy?!"

"I don't know, Rocky. Don't you think I'd want to know the specifics to that answer, too?!"

"Sorry." said the old man with the snowy white hair. "I keep forgetting your friend's also out there. But so is my son!" he roared, getting mad again.

"Okay, fellas. Now cool it!" Dixie hissed, finally resorting to turning down the fire department scanner above the E.R. desk as a control measure.  
"I just got back from the noise and chaos of the brush fire. I don't need to hear any more while I'm at work."

"Hey!" "We were listening to that!" complained both Rocky and Johnny at the same time.

McCall calmly took charge by walking to her stool after retrieving a coffee mug from the counter and pouring herself a cup. "Both of you are getting far too worked up for your own good. Johnny, you're a patient and Rocky, you were one very recently. Now how good would it look if a relapse or a collapse happens right in plain view of the waiting area? Are you trying to make the hospital look bad by running amok and creating a scene with a verbal disturbance?" Dixie gestured.

Gage, sitting in his wheelchair, immediately became embarrassed and sank down in his seat until the back of it hid his face. "Sorry. I'm being such a..  
a... gomer. And so's he."

"Huh?" sputtered Rocky.

Johnny just started chuckling. "I finally understand what you've been talking about all these years, Dixie."

She accepted his apology with a java toast thrust gracefully into the air.

Rocky scratched his head. "What's a gomer?"

Johnny sighed, rubbing his newly reddened face. "It stands for "Get. Out.  
Of. My. Emergency. Room."

"Oh?" said the P.I.'s old man. "Well, I'm not embarrassed in the slightest. I've got family involved!" Rocky insisted.

Gage nodded sympathetically at his companion. He was also eyeing up Dixie mug of hot coffee jealously. "Hate to break it to you. But she's right. Those public folks are directly involved in why they're here. They trump us, Rocky. They're future patients. I think we should shut up."

McCall nodded slowly in a tired yes. Then she reached down into a supply cabinet and pulled out a folded pinkish beige wool blanket. She held it out to Johnny.

"What's this for?" he asked.

Dixie started grinning. "It's gonna get a little chilly hanging out by the ambulance entrance, waiting for two more future patients."

Gage's face cracked open in a huge smile. "Oh, you're onto something beautiful, Dix!"

She shrugged. "It's the fastest way to getting any reliable news to friends and relatives that I know of."

Johnny started laughing openly. "Come on, Rocky. We're going to be a pair of wall flowers." He threw on the blanket over his shoulders to hide his patient gown and the rest of him. "If you push me, the orderlies'll think you're just loading me up in a car to take me home as an outpatient.  
Then they'll leave us alone." He unhooked his I.V. bag from a chair pole and stashed it behind his back to hide it. "How do I look?" he asked McCall.

"Like you're trying to sneak out. Here." she said, grabbing the vase of flowers sitting on her desk that past visitors had given her in thanks, on their departure.  
"Keep these in your lap. Now you really look like a discharged outpatient. I'll meet up with you once I know that Stoker and the mystery man are arriving,  
soon."

"Thanks!" said the grateful pair. The peace that reigned after they had left lasted only seconds before the first waiting room relative came up to the desk in equally flustered worry for a loved one. McCall sighed and dutifully returned to work.

The four with Engine 51 became galvanized. "You heard that weirdness. I'm taking what that civvie said as wholly genuine, gang." Cap said crisply. "Stay belted in. We'll use E51 to transport Mike and the second victim to our gear set up. Throw two stokes on the hose bed plus only the essentials."

"That'll be the drug box and the trauma kit with the resuscitator." DeSoto relayed to Chet and Marco.

Moments later, they were barrelling into the church grounds, sounding their air horn. Hank got on the radio. "Engine 51 to L.A. The scene's been secured around our effected firefighter. Have any responding fire support you have coming, protect the bravo, alpha and delta sides of the church for an immediate rescue and relocation operation."

##Copy, E-51. Do you require USAR assistance?##

"Negative, L.A. Both our victims are easily assessible." Cap answered.

Suddenly Vince Howard came over the main fire channel. ##L.A., this is A-24 on fire band. Emergency traffic!##

Silence followed as all transmissions on any fire crews' handy talkies were paused voluntarily by the firefighters listening in. They were paying attention and were waiting for the L.A. police officer's priority transmission.

L.A. responded in a sole reply. ##A-24, channel is clear. Go ahead with relay.##

##Our first known church site victim has critical injuries. He needs immediate physician level intervention. New victim two is minor.## Howard said quickly.

##10-4. Be aware, Chopper Five is en route with Dr. Brackett from Rampart General. E.T.A. is three minutes. Will you have a different 20 for their rendevous?## the dispatcher asked.

Hank Stanley voiced a reply. "L.A., HT 51. Engine 51's med set up is at the intersection of Resolute Way and Ridgeline. We've set up a clear landing zone away from power lines and fire thermals. We'll be transporting both victims to the LZ there to intially treat, and afterwards, flying them both out of the red zone."

##L.A., Chopper Five. Do you copy HT 51's coordinates?##

##Chopper Five, L.A. We do. We have a current visual on their tarp.##

A fourth voice entered the communications patch. ##L.A., Fire and Police I.C. We both acknowledge the mission. Can I get an updated total on victim numbers, A -24?##

Vince Howard replied. ##Three. Two live, and one non-fire fatality in an adult male, by GSW.##

In Engine 51's cab, Chet snarled. "Who was shot? G*d d mn it!"

Marco was pale. "They can't tell us that over the airwaves, Chet. Too many fire buffs like to listen in on scan."

Hank turned around in the driver's seat. "We'll see that answer with our own eyes right now. We're here! Bail out. Grab Roy's gear before any hoses!" he ordered.

The ring of towering fire encircling town rose to a deafening roar of sound.  
The firefighters glanced at it only briefly. Lives were at stake and the larger danger was still fairly safely, long minutes away.

"Who's worse?!" DeSoto shouted to Vince's group, huddled over two lying on the ground in the graveyard.

"Stoker!" Howard yelled back as they both rushed together. "He's got a badly burned arm and a knife embedded near a femoral artery. Breathing's distressed."

Roy finally arrived and dropped to his knees beside Mike. He swept his eyes over him head to toe. He deemed all the wound aid that he could see already in place, as controlling exterior bleeding adequately. He glanced at Angel while his hands flew into the trauma bag for an oropharyngeal airway. "Has he moved since he blacked out?" Roy asked.

"No. I don't know why he did it. All I did was free his left foot from a belt strap restraint."

DeSoto nudged him aside and took over Martin's head hold on Mike. He put in the airway over Stoker's tongue. "Not your fault, mister. Thank you for your help. We've got it from here."

Angel backed away and ran to the river to wash the blood off of his hands.

Lopez was already connecting a positive pressure oxygen flow mask. "He's at twenty six a minute, Roy. Aiding him on the in's." Marco reported. Two delivered breaths later, and they could all see the gray beginning to leave Mike's face.  
DeSoto swept his hands in assessment down Mike's body and found a soft lumpy quadrant over his upper right abdomen. "Kelly! Grab a five pound sand bag, and place it here! He's got an internal bleed."

"Got it!" Chet said, quickly applying one from a stokes.

Hank finished cutting away Stoker's sooty clothes from around him so they could see and work clearly on his injuries.

"Let's roll him over. I want to look at his back." Roy told them.

Cap startled when he found Mike's uniform shirt hidden underneath him.  
Inside of it was a large piece of tissue. Hank gasped, but kept his cool. "Can we save this skin, Roy?"

DeSoto then noticed Stoker's right hand and forearm, as it was uncovered.  
Just muscles and white tendons were showing from elbow to finger tips.  
Mike's shock was so profound, that the burned areas weren't oozing fluid or blood out of exposed capillaries any more. "No. Leave it for Recovery. Wrap anything raw on that limb in sterile sheets and start irrigating with saline to chill it. We've got to keep gross swelling down to prevent compartmental syndrome."

"Roy?" prompted Chet, eager about next steps.

"Plastic tarps. Line his stokes with them." Roy replied shakily, keeping a grip on Mike's carotid pulse as he spoke. "He won't need a spinal board or a C-collar. There are no fractures. Let's load and go, Cap. Every second counts here."

"I'll take a pressure when he's on the hose bed!" promised Kelly as he laid the draped chicken wire scoop stretcher alongside Mike's good side.

"Marco?" DeSoto checked verbally.

"He's manually ventilating fine for me. Might even be fighting it a little bit."

"Keep him pinked regardless."  
DeSoto rose to his feet. "Bundle him up and get him on the engine. I'm going to go check on the other two victims." Roy said.

Rockford opened his burning eyes as awareness slammed back in. He awoke to see Sara's face beaming down at him. He sighed tiredly. "I must be in Heaven."

Sara Butler tearfully shook her head. "No. We're definitely still in H*ll.  
Complete with fifty foot flames and a corpse." She tried to grin.

"Who finally got him? Wasn't me." Jim groaned.

"It was Vince. Blair was about to shoot one of us. How's your head?"

"Spinning... But that's... probably because..I'm..." he trailed off.

Sara bent her head even lower to hear him.

"...still in love, girl." Rockford whispered, grinning at his newest little trick to get her close in.

"Such a kidder." Butler scoffed, straightening up again, relieved.

"That's a concussion." DeSoto said, suddenly appearing to look at Jim's eyes with a pen light. Then he noticed Rockford's empty holster.  
"But first, where's your gun?"

Sara answered. "Lieutenant Becker's got it for safe keeping."

Roy placed a hand on Jim's chest. "You're breathing fast. Are you short of breath, Mr Rockford?"

"No, just... tired from the fight. I'm 52, Mr. DeSoto. I can't walk away from battles like I used to."

"We'll give you a free ride to the first aid area. Just relax. You're okay from what I'm seeing so far. My pals will load you up in a minute, then we'll all get out of here and to a hospital."

"Which one? Can we go to Rampart?" Jim asked urgently.

"Why there?" Roy asked, holding him still.

"My dad's there, remember?" the P.I. complained weakily.

"Yeah. All right, we'll pick there. It's the closest anyway." smiled Roy.  
But his grin didn't last as he got to his feet. He got in three steps towards Todd's body when Becker stopped him.

"It was a kill shot." Dennis told him, tapping himself on the forehead to show Roy where the bullet went in. "There's brain matter protruding."

DeSoto closed his eyes after verifying that certainty of death, for the records,  
to free himself of any paramedic care obligation to Todd, legally.  
"At least he's not suffering any more. He sounded completely insane on the radio. No rational thoughts at all at the end. Do we take or leave him?"

"Leave him." Becker nodded. "Go help your friend. I'll stay and guard the body until the coroner gets here."

Five minutes later, the sight of Chopper Five, running hot, with Dr. Brackett rushing up to them with a field surgical bag, almost made the gang of Station 51 weep in relief.

They were offloading Mike from the Ward, in between delivering breaths on the demand valve, when a sudden gagging choke from him, got their attention.

"Set him down! Right here!" barked Kel Brackett. "Let me look at him!"

Roy swiftly removed the oral airway and suctioned out Mike's mouth.  
Kel maintained a head tilt with his knees while he looked at Stoker's eyes. "Not a seizure." he sighed. "He's coming to, gentlemen." he smiled, working swiftly with syringes of medication, atropine and epinephrine, to stabilize Stoker's wavering vital signs. "His breathing's normal."

DeSoto switched out Marco's demand valve for a non-rebreather mask set at 15 liters flow of oxygen. "Respirations... Sixteen and deep."

Chet was as good as his word and offered up the results of a taken blood pressure. "80 over 56, doc. Pulse is ...120 and thready."

Brackett diverted his attention to the knife sticking out of Mike's groin.  
He lightly touched it with a medical gloved grip to see if the handle was pulsating. It was. Regularly. He grinned again. "The artery isn't compromised.  
The blade's sitting just on the outside of it against a pulse point."

"And what about that abdomen?" DeSoto fussed, pulling away warming sheets so Dr. Brackett could see the five pount sandbag resting there. Kel carefully moved the weight slowly off of Mike and cast it aside. Then he gingerly palpated the shapes of every organ located underneath the ugly bruised site. "Ah..." he sighed. "My guess is a contused liver.  
It's not ruptured. I can feel the three lobes clearly. I think his blood loss inside was just into the sheath surrounding it. It seems like the hemorrhaging has splinted itself. We'll just use one leg chamber and the whole abdominal pocket on the M.A.S.T. suit to help its natural blood pooling reduction along."

Stoker coughed wetly. A conscious one. Kel and Roy moved quickly to his head again and cleared out his mouth a second time. Roy was amazed at how calm Mike was as he came to the rest of the way. "I ... think I've been degloved, Roy." he analyzed. "My right hand."

"I know." Roy answered. "Keep still."

Stoker made a face and started holding his breath, when his burned arm jerked involuntarily.

"Whoops." Kel muttered to himself. He instantly drew up a dose of Versed as a pain killer option and added it to the Ringer's Lactate I.V.  
that Roy had begun on the engineer's good arm. "How's the pain now?"

"..Fading a little.." Stoker gasped, starting to breathe again more easily. Mike's frightened eyes briefly shot to his shoulder on the burned side. The others saw that he was afraid to look farther down.

"I can save this arm, Mr. Stoker." promised Kel. "It'll take a few grafts and a lot of therapy. But your skin will grow back again on its own for the most part. Your dermal generative layers aren't burned at all.  
What I'm seeing is just macro blistering."

Roy addressed the stabbed foot and found that the bandaging Becker had applied was still doing its job. He slipped his fingers below the ankle bone and pressed in. "This foot still has a pedal pulse, doctor."

"Good." said Kel. Then he leaned over Stoker to tell him more.  
"Your pressure's stable, but I can't give you a full blown narcotic for the rest of your pain, because your systolic's too low. I've given you an amnesiac instead. You'll forget you're hurting from moment to moment, but you'll also lose a little orientation, in a few minutes,  
about what we're doing and the passage of time. So don't be startled by it. Okay?"

But Mike was already drifting mentally. He didn't answer.

"Is he ready to be patched in?" Roy asked.

"Yes, make it a twelve lead. They'll be using in-depth monitoring once he hits the O.R.. We won't need it, Roy, but keep a defibrillator handy. The effects of multi-trauma are always unpredictable."

Hank tapped Marco and Chet's shoulders, where they knelt by the engineer, to get their attention. "Go get the helicopter crew so we can load them both up. Stabilization's over!" he shouted over the roar of the helicopter's rotor blades.

Kelly and Lopez left at a run.

"What do you got now, Roy?" Kel asked, pointing to the open Datascope.

"Sinus tachycardia with P.V.C.s." DeSoto read off of the EKG monitor.  
"I'll get you a strip."

"That's the fluid loss talking. Wide open the Ringer's until his systolic starts sitting above 100 with the mast suit on. Then set it T.K.O."  
the doc ordered. "Okay... Who and what's next?" Kel asked, straightening up and hurrying in a protective crouch against rotor wash, over to Rockford's stokes.

"Blow to the head in a 52 year old male. A punch to the face.  
He was out for a little bit." Roy reported. "Name's Jim Rockford."

"How long was he unconscious?" Brackett asked, looking down at the P.I. as he approached.

Sara Butler saw the doctor coming. "About ten minutes." she replied,  
looking up from her tight hold on Jim's hand, where he lay under a yellow shock sheet.

"Sweating up a storm here." Rockford grumbled at the two of them.  
"Oh.." He took in a fast breath at a sick twist he felt in a lung.

Kel frowned and knelt by him, taking a firm wrist pulse. "From the heat of the fire or because you're feeling cold?" Brackett asked him.

"I'm not in shock." Jim replied. "Look, doc, you're wasting your time with me. I've taken hundreds of right hooks to the kisser before today.  
I'm tired because I must have run ten miles in a raging fire today hunting down the arsonist."

"Where is he?" Kel asked, looking around the landing zone.

"He's dead." Rockford shared. "A police officer told me that he had to take him out."

"Who declared him a fatalilty?!" Brackett growled, yelling at Roy, displeased.

Jim came to DeSoto's defense. "Nobody, Mr. Top Dog. So quit barking up the wrong tree!" Rockford gasped. "That guy's got two noses now and the second one hanging out of his face, is made of brains!"

Brackett sobered and turned back to ministrating care to Jim.  
"Oh. Now I understand. Undeniable sign of death."

Rockford wasn't happy, even then. "Ah, the full glory of splattered gray matter. Speaking of which, did I scramble mine? I've got a real headache all of the sudden." Jim frowned.

Kel checked out his pupils with a pen light. Then he ascultated Rockford's lung sounds. "Mmmm hmmm.." rumbled the physician.

"Uh, huh, what?" Jim rasped.

"As I figured." Brackett, listened, distracted.

"Well don't keep me in suspense!" Jim finally boomed, making Kel wince and pull out the ear pieces of his stethoscope.

Kel smiled. "You're in the beginning stages of getting bacterial pneumonia, Mr. Rockford. That heat you're feeling is a fever coming on. I'm hearing the start of wet wheezing."

"Told ya!" Roy hollered back from where he and the Station 51 gang were loading Mike Stoker into the rescue helicopter.

Dr. Brackett's eyebrows rose up in amusement. "That's news I can use."

"...smart aleck firefighter..." Jim grumbled under his breath.

Kel chuckled, and waved over the chopper crew to get set to carry Rockford into the passenger bay. "Almost done." he told them. Then he turned back to his patient. "No, Jim. That's an on point paramedic. One of my best. You should have listened to him in Triage the first time and gone safely home."

"How'd you know I was there earlier?! I never saw you in that tent." Jim coughed. He fussed with the nasal cannula that Kel was fitting under his nostrils, to ease his breathing with a little oxygen flow.

Kel grabbed Jim by a wrist and held it up. A green triage ribbon still fluttered there.

"Oh." said Rockford. "I was color coded.."

"...as a walking wounded. Yeah." Kel smiled. "Now you get a yellow one."

"What? Why?" asked Jim, getting up in arms again.

"Because you can't stand any more. I can see both of your legs shaking. That's exhaustion from exposure to the elements.  
A firefighter you are not. If you cooperate on the flight in, I won't start an I.V. on you. You need antibiotics, not a fluidic life line.  
Do you have allergies to any medications that I should know about?"

"None. OwwW!" Rockford yelped as Dr. Brackett bared one of Jim's hips and gave him an injected broad spectrum sulfuric.

Kel pocketted the syringe into his jumpsuit after capping it. "How's the headache now?"

"It's...hey! It's gone!" Rockford sputtered, surprised. "How'd that happen?"

"Endorphins." Brackett said, getting out of the way of the flight crew so they could take the P.I. away. "Aren't they beautiful? That I.M. did more than just deliver a slow release cure for your lung bug. Consider it free acupuncture."

"Get me out of here, Sara! Before he decides to bleed me with a jar full of leeches!"

"Don't tempt me!" Kel hollered back. He only began to smile once his back was turned to Jim. ::Hole in one day, today. Looks like all of the good guys are gonna make it.:: Brackett thought happily.

Two weeks later, Sara Butler and Jim Rockford clung to each other tightly as they surveyed the charred remnants of what was left of her house.

"I hope he burns." Butler sniffed, getting tearful at all that she had lost in the fire.

"He didn't."

"I mean in eternal Hellfire. The bastard! Any sympathy I once had for Blair Todd just went up in smoke!"

"Like your house?" Rockford said gently.

"Oh, Jim..." sobbed Sara, burying her face in Rockford's broad shoulder.

"Aww, Sara." he coo'ed, taking her into both of his arms affectionately in a hug. "You are more than welcome to come live with us."

Butler looked up at him, eyes watering. "You mean..*sniff* with you and Rocky?"

"In our trailer." he nodded.

"It's kinda small." she said honestly, regarding her date's rugged eyes.

"Well, yeah. It's a tight cozy. But we've sure got a big ocean view. The best in all of Long Beach." he invited.

"But I'll be living right next to work, Jim. Looking at it, through the bedroom window from the bed."

"You mean, through the mail slot from the living room couch?" he amended.

Sara smacked him good.

"Ow." Rockford grinned. "Just kidding about the flop only thing."

Butler finally cooled down and soon they were snuggling again, trying hard to admire the charred moonscape of black surrounding them with mixed emotions. Sara sighed and dried away the tears from her face, using the sour wind. "So what if I said yes?"

Smiling gently, Rockford kissed the top of her head softly. "Well, I'd only accept that answer, after I've put something shiny and round on a finger. Right there." he said, caressing her left hand warmly.

The shocked look on Sara's face beamed brighter than the memory of every flame that had consumed the forest that was her fast beating heart. "I... do love you, Jim... I really do.. so...consider me moved in?" she gasped, daring herself to smile, just a little, as the whole implicated weight of his original question and offer, began to overwhelm her.

"Spell it out for me a little better, girl. I'm dim, because I'm old."

"Yes, Mr. Rockford, private eye, two hundred dollars a day, plus expenses. My answer is yes. I very much want to be your future wife."

Soon, the two of them became more melted together, than even the charcoaled canyon that was sheltering them from the recovery efforts.

FIN..

Photo: Johnny Gage getting mad on the phone.

Photo: Cap talking on an H.T. by the engine.

Photo: A canyon fire at night by a river.

Photo: A gunman, shot and down.

Photo: Marco, rushing by the engine with rescue gear.

Photo: A phone book ad for Jim Rockford.

Photo: Rockford and Sara Butler, smiling, arms linked.

Photo: Dr. Brackett in a triage jumpsuit in a canyon.

Photo: Mike Stoker, unconscious, being EKG monitored.

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